


Sieglindes Sturm

by Anonymous



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blossomcest, Crime, F/F, F/M, Incest, Jason Blossom is Alive, Organized Crime, Romance, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, beronica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 07:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Taking into consideration her father's drug empire and lethal war with Hiram Lodge for control of the Riverdale narcotics market falling for her twin brother really seems like a non-issue. Or so Cheryl Blossom thinks, at least.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a multi-chapter Blossomcest fic for a while.
> 
> So here it is.
> 
> The main divergence from canon is that Jason didn't freak out upon discovering that his dad was a drug lord and just sort of went with it (and also never got Polly pregnant). There are other differences that will become apparent as you read on.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Azdaema

“So, that’s the family business, Jason.” Cliff paused. “The real family business.”

Jason swallowed. His mouth was cracked, velvety and dry. He bowed his head, processing the incredible revelation his father had just saddled him with. Jason chuckled. Cliff’s face hardened a little. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Jason shook his head.

“I know it’s a bit of a shock,” Cliff offered, and Jason wanted to laugh at the faux-sympathy in his voice. He didn’t.

“A bit of a shock.”

Cliff sat himself down atop a wooden crate stamped with the black lettering: **PROPERTY OF BLOSSOM MAPLE FARMS.** Jason found himself wondering how many pounds of heroin were crammed into that one crate. He crossed his arms.

“Something you want to say?” Cliff prodded.

“And you’re not worried about the potential legal consequences of this?”

Cliff snorted. “‘Legal consequences.’ Be serious Jason. If there were any legal consequences for me, I’d have been sitting in prison twenty years ago. Keller and McCoy know where their blindspot is and where it ought to stay.”

Jason nodded.

“So—how much of the company’s revenue is actually from maple syrup and not…” His voice trailed off. He gestured to the crates and sacks of narcotics littered through the barn.

Cliff laughed. Smiles were rare on the man’s face, and when they came, they looked out of place. Almost unnatural.

“A not insignificant amount,” he assured his son with the same odd, thin smile.

Jason fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. So then this was the reality behind the Blossoms’ ‘maple syrup empire’. He really ought to have suspected something like this, now that he gave it some thought. There was simply no way his family’s prodigious fortune owed entirely to the delectable tree nectar they peddled to the people of Riverdale. There was no way his sister’s glittering jewelry or outlandishly expensive designer accessories could be measured in syrup. But he’d been happy not to look too closely.

Jason spread his arms wide. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this now.”

Cliff’s smile slowly faded. He rose to his feet and shambled over to his son. Jason winced as his father rested a large, heavy hand on his shoulder. The man narrowed his deep green eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, Jason, you’re a man now.”

Well, his seventeenth birthday had passed two months ago, so maybe? By some definition.

“I—”

“And someday you’re going to take over the business from me.”

“Right.” Jason was suddenly less than sure he wanted to take over this business. When he’d pictured himself as his father’s successor, as had been ordained since his birth, it had never been as a drug lord.

“And to do that, you need to know how everything operates, even the unsavory parts.

“Even the unsavory parts,” Jason echoed.

Cliff studied his son’s sallow, stiff face. “You’re uncomfortable. I can tell,” he said, pointing out the glaringly obvious.

“Just—just a little bit,” Jason choked out, only catching the sarcasm in his own words after the fact.

“You have to understand that law isn’t everything,” Cliff explained, his voice dropping into that tone that portended a lecture or life lesson. “Something being illegal doesn’t make it wrong. And vice versa. I’m a businessman, same as I ever was. The only difference is there’s a bit more diversity to my operations.” He tousled Jason’s ginger hair. Smiled some more.

The boy bristled noticeably. “Okay,” he acceded, wanting no more of his father’s self-justification. He remembered when that freshman starter on the team had died of an overdose two years ago and found himself wondering whether the stuff he’d taken had originated here. With his father. He thought for another moment.

He built up some courage, plucked his eyes from the straw at his feet and brought them back up to face Cliff. “What if I don’t really want this business?” he finally squeaked out, in the most inoffensive tone he could muster.

Cliff’s face changed. Muscles bunched up at the corners of his jaws. The veins in his forehead thickened. His lips thinned. “Jason, I’ve spent years building this family’s enterprise into what it is today. Your personal feelings aside, it’s this business that pays for every luxury you and your sister enjoy. It’s this business that’s going to pay for your university. This business that’s gotten you a head start in life that not a lot of kids have.”

Jason nodded. He thought of Cheryl. He wondered if she ever so much as suspected it was more than maple syrup profits that paid for her designer heels and handbags.

“Okay,” Jason said again. “I—is that all? Can I go?”

Cliff said nothing. He planted his fists on his hips, and chewed on nothing. “Not quite. There’s one more thing.”

Jason steeled himself.

“I said you had to be familiar with the business inside and out, even the ugly parts. And I meant that. So there’s one more thing you need to see.” Cliff put a hand on his son’s shoulder and guided him gently, wordlessly out of the barn.

Jason did not speak again as they got into his father’s car and pulled out of Thornhill’s winding gravel drive. He remained silent as they cruised through the little town’s rain-slicked streets. This felt thoroughly surreal. Like the opening of an art house film. Some sort of ham-fisted socio-political commentary on the non-existent distinction between criminality and entrepreneurship or something. He expected any moment to win a Sundance award. Jason watched intently as the buildings lining the roads grew older, more decrepit. He knew what that meant, of course, as did every kid in Riverdale. They were heading towards the South Side.

In another matter of minutes, a half hour at most, they ground to a stop before an old warehouse. Two grizzled men in worn leather jackets approached the vehicle. Cliff exited first, and motioned for his son to do the same. Jason examined the men’s jackets for the telltale crest in the form of a curling snake that would identify them as members of Riverdale’s notorious Southside Serpents. He didn’t find it.

“Long time no see, Mr. Blossom,” beamed one of the men, a stout brute with stringy hair and surprisingly good teeth.

“This is my son, Jason,” Cliff informed them.

The other man, similarly stout but younger and more compact, nodded in acknowledgement. Then he reached out and squeezed Jason’s hand in a vicious claw of a grip. “Nice to meet ya, pretty boy.”

“Nice to meet you,” he forced through closed teeth. He deduced finally that these men were Ghoulies, the Serpents’ principal rivals—known for lacking even the nominal code of honor that provided some measure of restraint to the Serpents.

“Well, Mr. Blossom,” the younger man said, “we’ve got the bastard inside.”

Cliff nodded. “Come on.”

_Got the bastard inside? What? What bastard?_

They stepped into the crumbling old warehouse, and the next sight smashed into Jason like a bullet. A gang of five or six Ghoulies milled about in a corner, ringing a dark lump that took a moment to be recognized as a man. More precisely, a man bound to an old chair, head lolling to the side, blood, fresh and old, splattered over his face and clothes. Jason winced.

Cliff strode over to the indisposed figure. He gripped the man by the hair and yanked his head up.

Jason lingered behind his father. After taking a moment to work up his courage with a deep breath, he followed. His stomach turned. His head throbbed.

“Dad, wh—”

“See, Jason, I do business with a lot of folks in this town. That includes our… friends here” He gestured to the Ghoulies, who answered with wolf-like grins. “And the so-called Southside Serpents. In exchange for hard cash, they’re all too happy to make drop offs or pickups for me. Among other things.”

They nodded in agreement.

The man bound to the chair slumped forward, and Jason caught sight of the serpent stitched to the back of his jacket.

“Unfortunately, sometimes, one of them gets a little bit ambitious. Isn’t that right?” he leaned in close towards the battered man, snarling.

“Please…” the Serpent moaned. The Ghoulies chuckled.

“This son-of-a-bitch here in particular, thought I wouldn’t notice if he helped himself to a cut of _my_ money. It was a big cut too, wasn’t it?” he growled. “ _Wasn’t it?”_

“Yes,” the man whimpered.

Cliff extended a hand. The older Ghoulie with stringy hair slid a pistol into his waiting palm. Cliff let the gun hang down, enjoying the weight and feel of it in his hand.

Jason wanted to close his eyes. He feared doing so, surrounded by these men and in the power of his father.

“The ugly parts, Jason. You can’t let people walk all over you. Especially not scum like this.” Jason licked his lips. He blinked. His eyes felt somehow dry and watery at the same time. “You have to make sure your position—and your profit margins—are secure.”

“I didn’t know—” the Serpent protested.

“Didn’t know _what_? That there would be consequences to stealing from me?” Cliff pressed the pistol’s muzzle into the man’s temple.

The Serpent screamed.

“Well consider this a lesson in consequences.” Cliff pulled the trigger.

The blast seared itself forever into Jason’s mind.

The Serpent’s head jerked, his skull splintering and a spray of gore and blood exploded from his temple, raining down on the Ghoulies’ boots. One of them cried out in protest. Jason watched, helpless, his mouth twitching. His blue eyes shone, struggling to make sense of this all. Cliff shook his head and wiped the barrel of the pistol free of red. He palmed it back off to stringy-haired gangbanger.

Cliff said nothing more as he led his pallid, shell-shocked son back to the car and drove the both of them home, out of the grime and decay of the Southside, back to the upscale ritz with which he masked himself.

His next words, as they disembarked on Thornhill’s sprawling great lawn, were: “I think it goes without saying that _all_ of this remains quiet. Not a word to anyone. You understand?”

“Of course, Dad,” Jason managed, the gun firing again and again in his mind’s eye.

It fired loud enough that he had no appetite that night. Fired loud enough that he gave up trying to sleep after two hours and sat awake until sunrise.

Loud enough that he vomited the next morning before school.

* * *

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” Cheryl warned her brother. She slid from the passenger’s seat of the red Impala they shared and turned around to face Jason, who remained planted at the steering wheel.

She looked over her shoulder at the grim shape of Riverdale High. “JJ, are you alright?” she inquired, voice gentle.

Jason finally peeled himself from the driver’s seat and joined his sister. Cheryl reached out and took his hand, eager to relieve whatever was troubling him. Her dainty hand fit perfectly into his larger one. She always liked that. It was, to her, a confirmation that they were built for interdependence. That made it all the more frustrating when something was bothering him and he refused to disclose to her.

“I’m fine, Cher,” he assured her, squeezing her hand.

She cocked her head. He was never any good at lying to her.

They parted before first period. Jason vanished into the mass of students coursing, Cheryl’s hand slipping out of his. She watched him go.

Cheryl worried about her brother for the rest of the day. Truth be told, she worried quite a bit for him. He was a quiet boy. Not prone to openness or dialogue, he was and always had been a bit introverted. It could be difficult even for her, his sister, closest friend, and confidante, to draw something out of him if he was determined to hang onto it. It meant that more often than not Jason consigned himself to suffer in silence.

It hung in the back of her mind through the day and resulted in her driving the Vixens even harder than usual during practice.

“ _You call_ that _form? Form of a spastic flamingo maybe.”_

She cut practice short early that morning after a freshman girl, groaning under Cheryl’s tyranny, stormed out of the gym in a flurry of emotion. She’d probably have to be cut from the team for such a display of unfitness. Pity.

Cheryl gathered up her change of clothes, dismissed her assembled cheerleaders like a general, and floated off into the girls’ locker room. Ginger Lopéz trailed after her like a duckling after its mother.

“Hear about the new girl?”

Cheryl ignored the question at first, irritated. She stripped off her Vixen’s uniform and hung the gold and blue articles over the divider of the shower stall. She slipped inside.

“Lodge?” she finally responded.

“Yeah,” Ginger said from the next stall over. Cheryl twisted the rusting knob and winced as the water struck her. “She’s pretty hot,” Ginger continued, talking over the hissing of the showerheads.

Cheryl bristled, struck by the all-too familiar feeling that her handmaiden was trying to needle her. Again. “Yeah. Just another sweet-faced airhead. Nothing to write home about. I’ve got bigger things on my plate.”

“Oh.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes. ‘Oh.’ That was it. The disappointment she didn’t get a better rise out of her.

Cheryl ran her hands through her soaking red hair. She closed her eyes and the water cascaded down over her bare skin, washing away the sweat and grime. It was lovely. One of the few parts of her day she was still given to enjoying. A cleansing. A renewal.

Ginger left before her, vanishing from the locker room without another word. Cheryl finished soon after. She flicked off the showerhead and waited for a moment, watching the beads of water glisten on her fair skin. Then she toweled herself off.

Cheryl stuffed her spent cheer uniform into a drawstring bag. There were a lot of constants in her life, but there was only one good one. Jason had been there with her since the very beginning. He was her protector and her charge alike. She could always count on him to make her feel worthwhile and loved when their parents did the opposite. And she would always be there if he needed the same. They were one another’s other halves. As close to one soul as could be.

That was why it so irked her when he refused to divulge something to her, when that something was clearly causing him pain. It made her feel like he didn’t really trust her. Like their bond wasn’t as strong as she thought it was.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and strolled into Riverdale High proper. Rounding the corner next to the cafeteria, she nearly slammed directly into a rather lovely girl with dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. Reeling, Cheryl stumbled backwards, collected herself, and then turned on her newfound foe.

“Watch it y—” She paused. She matched up the girl before her with the composite image she’d put together in her head based on a few descriptions and rumors. “Oh, hello!” she chirped, her tone changing on a dime. So _this_ was Veronica Lodge. “Sorry about that. I guess I move a little fast sometimes.”

“Uh—”

Betty Cooper hovered in the background, tasked by Weatherbee with giving the new girl her tour, Cheryl deduced.

“Veronica, this i—” Betty started.

“Cheryl Blossom,” Cheryl answered for herself. “Resident royalty and the cream of Riverdale’s high society. And _you_ must be our fine little town’s newest arrival,” she said, her full lips flowering into a great smile.

Cheryl looked into the girl’s dark eyes and realized they were sizing each other up in the exact same way. Cheryl’s smile became a little more genuine.

“Right. Veronica Lodge,” came the response. “As you’ve noted, new girl.”

“I see you’ve already met our resident ingénue, Betty Cooper,” Cheryl continued.

 Betty fixed her with an uncharacteristically moody stare. Cheryl flashed a grin in return.

The three created an impassable obstruction in the middle of the hall, and other students flowed around them like a river round a stone. Cheryl liked the importance. Before she could really launch into her dissection of Veronica Lodge, she felt a gentle hand at the small of her back. With that odd sort of sixth sense she was sure she possessed, she recognized it immediately without turning.

“Cheryl, hey,” Jason said from behind her. “You’re kind of—blocking the hallway,” he half laughed.

She turned around to face him. He looked a little better than he had earlier in the day. There was more color in his face. His blue eyes had won back their shine. It made Cheryl feel a little better.

“And who’s _this_?” Veronica inquired, voice dripping with suggestion. Cheryl felt a knot of frustration tie itself up in her chest. She glared at Veronica.

“Jason,” he answered, extending a hand. 

Veronica took it with a lecherous smile. “ _Charmed._ Veronica Lodge, new girl.”

Cheryl scowled. Her brow furrowed. She looked up at her brother, who towered over her, and was rather upset to find him smiling back at the raven-haired temptress.

“Welcome to Riverdale,” Jason said, smiling his easy smile.

“I _feel_ welcomed.”

Cheryl could not have been more delighted when Jason hooked his arm into hers and said, “We should probably get to class.”

“Of course,” she quickly conceded.

“See you later,” Veronica called after.

As she and Jason meandered down the hallway, arm and arm, she spared a moment to cast a vicious glare over her shoulder at Betty and Veronica. If either of them caught it, it didn’t show on their faces.

* * *

 

“So,” Veronica Lodge began, crowded around a lunchroom table with Betty Cooper and Kevin Keller. “I wanna hear about the ginger Adonis and his _hot_ girlfriend we ran into in the hall.”

“Sister, actually,” Kevin coughed.

“Really? Bu—”

“Yeah, yeah, common mistake,” Kevin explained. “But seriously—” He leaned in close, as if discussing some dread creature. “The Blossoms are pure evil in admittedly sexy packages. No good can come of associating with them.”

Veronica looked to Betty for a more tempered view. The blonde shrugged. “Kevin likes to exaggerate but he’s not _wrong_. They aren’t the most pleasant people around. Their family basically owns the town though.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “They’re single, though?” she inquired.

“Um—as far as I know,” Betty stammered.

“Both of them?”

“Yeah, because they eat their mates,” Kevin hissed.

Veronica smiled, tolerant and patronizing. “Sweethearts, I’ve lived in the Big Apple. I doubt a few small town rich kids have got a whole lot I haven’t seen before.”

“Famous last words,” Kevin muttered, shaking his head.

“Hey!” Betty started, eager to steer the conversation away from the Blossoms. “The back-to-school dance is in a week. You’ll be attending, I hope?”

“Back-to-school… is that like homecoming?”

“No, we have homecoming, too,” Betty clarified.

“So—”

“It’s like homecoming but stupid,” Kevin explained.

“Well—is it popular? I mean, do people actually go? Because at Spence the only dance anyone ever went to was prom.”

“Yeah, people go. Actually I’d wager it’s one of the more heavily attended ones. Everyone seems to be worn out on dances by the end of the year for the most part.”

“Well, in that case, of course!” Veronica exclaimed. “I’ve got to establish my presence in this…” She searched for a gentle word. “…place,” she settled on. She speared a piece of broccoli on her tray. “And a school dance is perfect for that.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “All I’ve got to do is find a date.”

Kevin snorted. “You won’t have much trouble with that, trust me.”

“Really?” Veronica asked, with a half-smile. She nudged the boy with an elbow. “Do _you_ wanna take me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Try the—wait, a second ago you asked if _both_ the Blossom twins were single? Are you—I mean—do you—is—”

Veronica smiled. “If you’re asking if I like guys _and_ girls, the answer’s yes.”

“Oh my God, Betty, take a picture!” Kevin demanded. “This is historic. The straights are losing their tyrannical grip on Riverdale at last.”

Veronica chuckled.

“I guess that expands your dating pool!” Betty said.

“Guess it does. Hey, what’d you say the twins’ last name was?”

“Blossom?”

Veronica furrowed her brow and lowered her head. A caricature of someone deep in thought. After ten seconds she snapped her fingers in that old ‘I got it!’ way. “My father does business with theirs! I think. Cliff?”

Betty nodded.

“The plot thickens,” Kevin quipped.

“Yeah,” Veronica said, with increasing clarity. “Actually, I think Daddy mentioned something about having a meeting with Cliff Blossom in a few days. Small world, huh?”

“Small world.”

* * *

Cheryl waited next to the car for her brother, as school let out. When he finally appeared, she decided to go for a disarming hug as her second bid at getting him to open up. She noticed, much to her disappointment, that his face again appeared sallow, his gait a bit less confident.

“Want me to drive?” she asked.

He smiled. Squeezed her hand. “It’s fine. I got it.”

Cheryl folded herself into the passenger’s seat and sighed. “ _Please_ tell me what’s wrong?”

Jason brought his hand to her face and stroked a thumb over her cheekbone. It was his favorite soothing gesture to make when she was worried or otherwise flustered. “Cherry, I’m _fine_.”

She frowned. “You’re lying to me, JJ.”

He pressed his forehead up against the steering wheel and let out a sigh. “Okay, if you’re _really_ gonna press me on this… I’m just a little stressed out. That’s all. I promise.”

“Stressed out because…” she forded on.

 He chuckled a little bit. It made her happy to see him laugh. It always did.

“You know, Dad thinks my turning seventeen is some big milestone. He says I’m a ‘man’ now, and that I need to learn how the business works. He dragged me to some…” he paused, “meeting yesterday. It was awful. It’s just—he wants to make me into the junior version of him and he wants to do it _now_. And I sure as hell don’t want that.”

Cheryl nodded. She turned her brother’s words over in her mind. “That’s it?”

Jason laughed again. “ _Yes_ , Cheryl. _That’s it_. I promise you, alright.”

She crossed her arms and gave him the look that said _I’m satisfied for the moment but we haven’t finished with this little issue_.

“Fine,” she acceded at last.

“You worry about me far, far too much,” he accused.

“I do not!” she shot back. “I worry about you just as much as I ought to. No more, no less.” She smiled a little and reached out to brush a stray strand of hair out of Jason’s eyes. “Not my fault you’re so worrisome.”

“I am not!”

“Oh, please. Do you remember when you fell off of the second story of Thornhill chasing a lizard and broke your leg? After I _explicitly_ warned you not to do that?”

“I was five!” he laughed.

“So was I!” she shot back. “Difference is I wasn’t nearly as stupid. Admit it, I _am_ your common sense.”

Jason leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He turned the key in the ignition and started the car’s engine. “You’re a lot of things,” came his rather cryptic response.

She rolled her eyes. “I was wondering,” Cheryl started, changing tack, “you have a date for the back-to-school dance yet?”

“Are we doing that again this year?”

“ _Yes_. _We are_. In fact, I helped plan most of it, so you better come along. Actually, you don’t have a choice.”

Jason fell silent for a moment. He knit his brow. “Wait, when’s that? Friday?”

“Hmm. I’m actually not sure if I can make it. Dad wants me to come along with him to some… function or something this weekend. It’s either Friday or Saturday.”

“What? What function?”

“It’s some kind of conference he’s holding with—wait, what was that girl’s name? The new one?”

“Veronica?”

“Last name.”

“Lodge?”

“Huh. I guess it’s her father. Hiram Lodge?”

Cheryl presented a scowl of disgust. “They’ve been in town a week and I already hate them.”

“You hate everyone.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jason knocked on the doorframe to his father’s office. “Dad?”

Cliff raised his head. “What?”

Jason couldn’t help but wince at his father’s voice. He could hardly look at the man anymore without a sharp chill in his gut. Cliff Blossom had never been the warmest of caregivers. There were never any father-son excursions or heartfelt life lessons from him. But he’d always been reasonable and relatively fair-minded at least. Now, knowing what he did, Jason could hardly stand to live under the same roof as this man. Much less stomach the thought of his sister unknowingly sharing a house with such a murderer.

“I was just wondering when that meeting with Mr. Lodge is? The one you wanted me at?”

“Of course.” Cliff mumbled something inaudible to himself and scribbled a few words onto the sheets of paper before him. “It’s Friday. Friday evening. 11:00 o’clock.”

“Okay, cool. I can go to the dance, then?”

Cliff shrugged. “Do what you like, Jason. Just be done by 11:00.”

Jason breathed a short sigh of relief. It wasn’t that he particularly _wanted_ to attend the back-to-school dance. School functions in general weren’t his scene. But Cheryl, who had after all been the event’s principal organizer, really wanted him there. He didn’t want to disappoint her on that front.

“Thanks.”

Cliff shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s fine. I can’t talk right now. I’m busy.”

Jason sighed and closed the door, exhaling long and hard. An inordinate exhaustion gripped him. He ran a hand through his red hair.

He’d had from an ideal start to his last year of high school. Jason had expected football games and a sea of college applications and an above average number of parties. Certainly not an induction into the family’s secret drug empire. This would certainly take a toll on his grades, and probably his performance on the field as well. Glory day.

Halfway down the hall, he stopped by Cheryl’s room. He knocked briefly, but then entered without waiting for a response. They were both wont to do that. Anyone else was liable to have their eyes clawed out by Cheryl for the sheer disrespect, of course.

Jason found his sister lying back in bed, in a state of leisurely half-dress. “Hey,” she greeted, setting aside her phone.

He sat down on the edge of her bed. Cheryl pulled in her legs to give him room.

“He—is that my t-shirt?”

The old shirt, a grey article stamped with some vaguely metallic pattern, hung comically large from her slender shoulders, its hem coming down to mid-thigh.

“Maybe,” she replied, voice thin and coy.

Jason rolled his eyes and half-giggled. “You know, one of the benefits of having a sibling of the opposite sex is that they’re _not_ supposed to steal your clothes.”

Cheryl jutted out a cherry-red lower lip at him. “It’s comfortable, back off. Not like you wear it anymore, anyway.”

“That’s not th—nevermind. Anyway, I came in to tell you that, good news, I can make it to the stupid dance. Dad’s thing isn’t until 11:00.”

Cheryl smiled. She sat up and pulled him into an embrace. “ _Thank you_.” Cheryl broke the hug and looked her brother in the eye. “Anyone you’re going to take?” she asked with a note of expectancy in her voice.

Jason shrugged. “I mean—it isn’t like prom where you _have_ to have a date, right?”

“No! No, it’s fine.” Cheryl’s smile reached her eyes. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going to go with anyone, either.” She fluffed her hair. “I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to look for a date considering I was so busy putting the whole thing together in the first place. Keeping the idiots on student council in line is a full time job.”

“I’m sure.”

Cheryl cocked her head. “Why don’t we just go together?” she suggested. Jason caught her tone and suspected it wasn’t the off-handed proposal she presented it as. Naturally, he said nothing.

“Sure! Sounds like fun,” he answered, and to an extent, he meant it. It might be a decent distraction, at least for a moment.

“Great.”

He rose to leave.

“Hey, JJ?”

Jason turned again.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know why Dad is meeting with _Veronica_ ’ _s_ father in the first place?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

* * *

Veronica Lodge slipped into her third dress of the hour. It was a blue satin confection that bared the back and shoulder, finishing off with a dangerously plunging neckline. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror. Shook her head.

“That’s _gotta_ violate dress code,” she mumbled to herself. Veronica had always prided herself on the ability to select the perfect dress, skirt, or necklace the first time every time, but this was a special occasion. This dance was to be her first _real_ public appearance in this one-horse town. She knew better than anyone the importance of the first week or two in a new place. That was the crucial window during which one’s position in local socity was forever cemented. Veronica needed to make an impression, to put it mildly. She needed to act, and more importantly _look_ , sensational.

She next tried a more conservative grey gown with ruffled sleeves and no shape in the waist. Veronica gave it exactly half a second’s consideration before stripping it off. It was much too 1800s.

A gentle knock at the door drew her out of her rumination.

“ _Mija?_ ” her father’s low voice came. “Are you dressed?”

“Just a second, Daddy!” she called back. She quick threw on a crude shirt and a pair of shorts. “Alright.”

The doorknob turned, clicked, and her father stepped into the room. Hiram Lodge held his hands behind his back, rather clearly hiding something. He kept up the little charade for about five seconds, before producing a slender, black dress sewn in silk, still in its wrap. He handed it over to his elated daughter with a smile. Veronica examined the gift with glittering eyes. It was, in a word, perfect. It wasn't too stuffy and it wasn't too bold. It was form fitting, but clearly not uncomfortable. She ran two fingers over the material, unable to believe just how soft and pliable it was.

“I know you’re going to that dance on Friday, and I thought you might like to make… an impression.”

Veronica never ceased to be amazed by her father’s uncanny insight into her state of mind. His gifts were never anything she could have chosen better herself.

“Thank you, Daddy!” she squeaked.

“Of course, _mija._ I know the move is a little tough. But I promise you, you’ll get used to it. And in this little town? You’ll be at the head of the pack in no time.”

“I know.”

Veronica looked over the dress. She was delighted, of course, by the perfection of the present. But a rebellious little splinter of suspicion began pricked at the back of her mind. Her father often brought her gifts. But he did it most often when there was something—past or future—that he had done or intended to do and suspected his daughter would be none too happy about. The gifts were very often apologies, preemptive or post-facto. She decided that, in this case, ignorance was bliss. 

Hiram didn’t leave it to her long. “Enjoy the dress.”

“I will.”

Her father stepped back out of her room, but stopped halfway. “Oh, one more thing.” He put on that overly gentle face he did whenever he was about to deliver unwanted news. “I’m going to be holding a meeting here at the Pembrooke Friday evening. I’d appreciate it if you took the night out with friends.”

Veronica fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course. A ‘meeting’. And apparently a secretive one at that. That was why he'd brought her the gift. She supposed it wasn’t really her place to question her father’s business practices, shady as they might be. She was a smart girl and she got the message. The gift for her complacency.

“Of course, Daddy. We’ll find something to do.”

He flashed her one more smile, and departed, closing the door behind him.

Veronica finally gave in to her instincts and rolled her eyes as high as they would go. She turned around and slipped into her new dress. It looked magnificent, and she forgot most any lingering feelings of annoyance with Hiram. She would _certainly_ make the desired splash in this. She beamed at herself in the mirror. 

Well, she certainly looked the belle of the ball, but she still needed a date.

She’d spent most of the day running a list of potential candidates through her head.

Both of the Blossom twins had been pretty damn hot, but if they were half the terrors the students of Riverdale High legend that was surely a long-term project for another time.

Then there was Archie Andrews, Betty’s hunky childhood best friend from across the way. The poor boy seemed like the type that wasn’t sure what sex was and would blush furiously if someone explained it to him.

Then there was Betty Cooper herself, of course. The blonde was very cute, to put it lightly. She was sweet, too—or at least seemed it. The problem was, of course, that Veronica had no idea whether Betty was interested in girls _that_ way. She’d certainly given no indication one way or another. Maybe it was worth a shot, though. And even if the answer was no, perhaps she’d like to go as friends?

Well, she had plenty of time to think about it. ‘Plenty of time’ meaning two days.

Veronica spun around, examining herself in the mirror. 

And yet, even with such an expensive distraction she couldn’t take her mind from the twins. She’d seen her opposite number of sorts in Cheryl Blossom. The girl reminded her  of the girl she’d been before. In New York at Spence. And that was the 'her' she wanted—for the most part—to kill off. It was looking through a portal stretching back one year. Cheryl was a scrap of her old life that, against all rhyme and reason, was right here with her in Riverdale.

And in view of their fathers’ apparent dealings with each other, she was bound with the Blossom twins whether she much liked it or not.

* * *

 

Hiram Lodge was franchising.

He hadn’t been to Riverdale in years. Not since he lifted himself and Hermione out of this little cesspool became a king in his own right. He hadn’t exactly been eager to abandon his carefully ritzy New York existence for a tired little backwater like this, but circumstances demanded it.

Hiram had cut things more than a little close on a few less-than-legal dealings of his. He was a free man, still, and he had not gotten his fortune by dodging risks. But even a gambling man had his limits. It was best to lay low. And boring, sleepy Riverdale was the perfect place to do that.

Of course, that meant relocating his entire operation. He may have had to downsize, but he sure as hell wasn’t closing up shop. He was already in the process of acquiring a few defunct shops for his purposes on the border between the North and South sides of Riverdale. Besides the money he was still receiving from his accounts back home, he would have his enterprise recreated in miniature, right here in Riverdale.

But even there, he was running into a serious problem. The problem was that there was already a power in Riverdale, and its name was Blossom.

Cliff Blossom was, as his public face would have it, the mighty owner of the third-largest maple syrup producing firm on the eastern seaboard. It was an enterprise that went back generations, and had made the family wealthy.

In the background, he was one of the more influential drug lords east of the Mississippi. He mostly dealt in heroin (and some in that new-fangled ‘Jingle Jangle’), moving it up and down the coast, into Montreal or Florida. Most of Riverdale’s people had no idea. Sheriff Keller had his suspicions, but he knew better than to dig too deep. Hiram, of course, as did most in the business, knew Cliff well. In fact, they’d done indirect business together more than a few times, for Hiram himself was a frequent participant in the illegal narcotics trade. It was good money, besides the short-changing and stock finagling. There was also a bit of legitimate business here and there.

The problem was, that in relocating himself to Riverdale, Hiram ran the risk of cutting in on Cliff’s territory. That was not something that Blossom was likely to accept.

Hiram had decided to take the first action. He’d extended an olive branch and offered to meet with Cliff to hash out the particulars of this new state of affairs. Hiram would not normally be so magnanimous, preferring to crush his rivals into dust. But this situation called for tact. Riverdale was his refuge, now. If things fell apart here, he had nowhere else to run.

Hiram looked at himself in the mirror. He turned his head to the side, examining his profile. He flexed. He was on the wrong side of 40, but he still looked good and he was just as vigorous in spirit as in body.

He smiled.

He could deal with a dissipated man like Cliff Blossom. He’d have him, and this whole town, dancing on his strings soon enough.

* * *

“Jason!”

He flinched at his father’s voice. Jason rose, limbs stiff, and stumbled out into the hall. He was already dressed and prepared for the dance, hoping to God he would be able to get out of the house before having to confront Cliff again. But apparently he had no such luck.

He followed the voice to find his father standing at the parlor window, peaking periodically through the curtains as if expecting something or someone.

Cliff whirled around to face his son.

“Dad?”

“You look nice,” he offered, appraising Jason in his tuxedo.

Jason gritted his teeth. “Thanks.”

Cliff strode over to the boy. Jason had a good three or four inch advantage on his father, but the man never failed to intimidate him nonetheless. Jason clenched his jaw and set his face. He hoped his eyes were half as hard as Cliff’s.

“Sit down,” his father requested. 

He didn’t say that, of course. He sat.

“What is it?” Jason choked out.

Cliff exhaled. “I just wanted to be clear about a few things. And I don’t mean to be abrasive, son, please. It’s just that I want to make _sure_ you understand how important it is you keep _everything_ about our family… enterprise to yourself. I can’t stress this enough.”

Jason nodded. “I got it, Dad.”

“I wasn’t sure you did, though. You haven’t seemed very well for the past week.”

“Gangland executions will do that to you,” Jason let slip before he could stop himself.

Cliff’s eyes burned bright for a moment. He contained whatever fury his son’s loose tongue stoked. “I’m not joking, Jason. And this isn’t a joke. You need to keep everything I’ve shown and told you, or _will_ show and _will_ tell you, to yourself. Without exception. And that includes Cheryl. Understand?”

“I—”

“Let me finish. I’m going to need a _promise_ from you.”

“I promise. I promise I won’t say anything to anyone,” Jason said. His fingers dug into the armrests, scratching away at the leather upholstery.

“Including to Cheryl.”

“Including Cheryl.”

Cliff smiled, satisfied. “It’s for your own safety, you know.”

Jason swallowed. Was he _threatening_ him?

“And hers.”

Jason’s knuckles whitened,. Was he threatening _her_? He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. His mouth dried out. He was overcome with the urge to reach out and throttle his father. Of course, he didn’t. Instead he stiffened his body and nodded. “Of course,” he choked out.

“Hey!” Cheryl’s light, commanding voice rang out. “We’re gonna be late.”

Jason stood, unsteady. His father didn’t move.

“I’d better go.”

“Have fun.” Cliff said with a smile.

* * *

 

Cheryl and Jason arrived at the back-to-school dance as they always did: in style.

Jason, in a tuxedo so crisp and simple it simply had to cost a fortune, helped his sister, in her impossibly fine red dress, from the passenger seat of their Impala. She pitched forward on her stiletto heels, and he quickly caught her.

“Gah! Thanks, Jason.”

He nodded.

The tall, melancholy redhead took his sister by the hand and led her towards the dark shape of Riverdale High, beneath the great blue banner reading: **WELCOME BACK, BULLDOGS!**

He rolled his eyes a little bit.

Stepping under the banner, the cheap, tinny music typical of any high school dance hit them head on.

“Is the punch alcoholic?” Jason asked. His face came off wan and sallow in the pale blue floodlights.

“Ha. Ha.” Cheryl craned her head up to look her brother in the eye. He returned her gaze, unsmiling. She frowned. “Try to enjoy yourself. At least a little bit.” She gave him a playful nudge in the ribs. “It reflects well on me, okay?”

“Right.” He smiled lightly for her benefit.

She slipped her hand out of his. “I’m going to go hunt up a bit of drama. Have fun. Please?”

She waved goodbye and sauntered off into the crowd. Jason watched her go. The notes of some dime-a-dozen pop song hammered at his ears. He was nauseous. He returned to his father’s words time and time again, anger building each time. ‘ _For your own safety. And hers.’_ How _dare_ he threaten him? More than that, how dare he threaten _her_? Bastard. Then his thoughts were rudely interrupted. 

“Yo! Blossom!” Reggie materialized from the gloom and threw an arm around Jason’s shoulders.

“Hey, Reggie.”

The dark-haired football player squinted. “Dude, you look half-dead. Have you been fasting or something?”

“No.”

Reggie’s head swiveled about like a periscope. When he was satisfied the coast was clear, he slipped a hand into his wool blazer and produced a little silver flask. He flashed Jason a devilish little smile. “I know what you need.” He thrust the flash at him.

“Reggie, chill.”

“Come on, it’s tequila. Good shit, too. It's strong as my arm, swear to god.”

“Seriously, I don’t want any damn tequila right now.”

Reggie prodded his friend in the chest, splinters of real concern shining through his mask of levity. “Dude, I’m telling you. You already look like pale as a vampire most of the time. For the last week or two you look like a damn zombie. What the hell’s up with you?”

“ _Nothing_.”

“You should at least try to get laid tonight,” Reggie suggested, sweeping an arm in the direction of the mass of teenage revelers. “What ever happened to you and that babe from the cheer squad? What, Pauline?”

“ _Polly,_ ” he corrected in irritation. “We've known her since we were _three_. And—that’s not happening anymore.”

Reggie took a swig of tequila. “Shit! So she’s open?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Reggie—”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” He pushed the tequila at him one more time. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“ _Yes_.”

Reggie raised his hands in defeat. “Nobody ever accused me of peer pressure,” he joked. “Seriously though, cheer up man.” And he vanished.

Jason shook his head and rubbed his temples. He blinked a few times, as if he might wake up from a dream. He had no such luck.

* * *

 

“Well, well,” Cheryl smirked, descending upon Betty and Veronica like a hawk. “Look who made it!”

“Cheryl,” Betty murmured. She slunk back a little bit. Unfortunately, there was no escape, for her arm was locked with Veronica’s, and Veronica was holding her ground.

Cheryl’s dark brown eyes glowed. “Are you here as one another’s dates?” she needled.

“Yes, matter of fact,” came Veronica’s bold-faced answer.

“Well, isn’t that sweet. You’ve stolen her right out from under Archie’s nose, haven’t you, Lodge?”

Betty rolled her eyes. “No one _stole_ me from anyone, Cheryl,” Betty snapped. “I’m not a… prize.”

Cheryl winked at her. “I’d disagree.”

Betty’s mouth dropped open. Her cheeks flushed red. “Exc—”

“Oh, relax, cutie. I’m just messing with you.” She turned to Veronica, pursing her lips. “As for you… I hear your father’s having a little meeting with my own? So soon after you come into town?” She smiled sweetly. “I wonder what that’s about?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I don’t _know_ , Cheryl. Contrary to what you apparently think, I don’t have a telepathic link with my father. As I assume yours doesn’t, either.”

Cheryl sighed. She went in for the kill. She’d been wary of Veronica since she first caught wind of the girl’s arrival in Riverdale. A wealthy young heiress with a penchant for social domination? There was only really room for _one_ of those in Riverdale. She'dd already been determined to cut Lodge down to size.

But that desire had been whipped up into an all-consuming _need_ after their initial introduction earlier last week.

Veronica might have thought she was being subtle, but she wasn’t. Her moment’s flirtation with Jason could not be allowed to go unpunished. It was one thing for this raven-haired temptress to ride into town and threaten Cheryl’s hard-won position at the peak of Riverdale’s social pyramid. It was yet another for her to turn her sights on Cheryl’s brother. That would not be tolerated.

She looked from the ex-socialite to her pretty, blonde, all-American date. If Cheryl could read people—and she could—there was some real attraction there, at least on Veronica’s end. Cheryl would keep this upstart in her place and more importantly away from her brother, even if it meant she had to play matchmaker.

“Right. Well, anyhow, I’ve tracked you two with more congenial intentions. I’m holding a party at my house after this little shindig is over, and I _do_ hope you two lovebirds can make it,” she chirped.

“W—” Veronica started.

“We’ll be there,” Betty snapped.

“Good!” Cheryl exulted. She pushed past the pair, before turning around and offering one more wink. “Have fun, you two.”

Soon after Cheryl’s leave-taking, Archie Andrews appeared, a glass of punch in hand.

“Hi guys. What’s up?”

Veronica shrugged. “Apparently we’re going to a party at Cheryl Blossom’s house after this?” She turned to her date. “What the hell, Betty?”

“Well, I’m sorry!” Betty defended herself. “She… pissed me off.”

Archie shrugged. “I’m down.” He chugged his punch.

“Of course you are,” Veronica said.

They were cut off as Cheryl took the stage, flashing and dazzling in her red dress and sparkling jewelry.

“Welcome back, Riverdale!” she gushed through the microphone, and the heads of the student body turned in unison. “ _So_ good to see you all here tonight!” Cheryl looked out on the attendees. She took a deep breath in satisfaction. It felt good to have every eye in the room on her. To command the silence and attention of everyone present. “I’ve slaved away, poured my blood and tears, into organizing this event for you, friends,” she pronounced, “so I _really_ hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.” It came across more as a threat than a wish.

She scanned the crowd, and her eye fell upon her brother, up against the far wall, head bowed. Cheryl frowned, half sympathy and half anger. The only thing she detested more than Jason keeping secrets from her was his being miserable in the first place. “To—all of my fellow seniors,” she fumbled, voice breaking. Distracted. “We’ve come a long way.”

Cheryl finished the speech in short, halting sentences. She hardly heard the smattering of dutiful applause.

Cheryl descended and pushed through the crowd, like Moses through the Red Sea. When she finally reached her dejected brother, she planted her fists on her hips and clucked her tongue.

“Hi, Cheryl,” he mumbled, half-obscured in the shadows of the north stairwell.

“I thought I ordered you to have fun?” she teased, masking her real, helpless frustration.

He reached out and took her hand, cupping it in his. “Since when do I take orders from you, Cherry?”

She shook her head and sighed. “Come on.” Cheryl barked. “We’re gonna dance a little bit. Maybe it’ll shake some of the broody Byronic hero out of you.”

She took him by the hand and pulled him out into the pulsing mass of students. Their peers parted for them as they passed, like peons before royals. Cheryl found them a relatively clear spot, just out of the speakers’ direct line of fire, tamping down the music to a tolerable drone.

“Cher—”

“Shut it. Here—do you even know how to dance?”

“I—”

She rolled her eyes and flashed him a smile. Cheryl took his left hand and repositioned it to her hip. She placed her own on his shoulder, and leaned her head into his chest. “Just follow my lead. Try not to send us sprawling into anyone else.”

Luckily, the next song was a slow one. The twins swayed slowly in step with the music’s low, steady beat. Cheryl felt Jason’s heartbeat begin to pacify, and counted that as a success, whether it was the dancing or her that had done it. She always appreciated these moments. They weren’t exactly alone right now, surrounded by their classmates, but it was almost as good. No one bothered them, or even really paid them any mind, involved with themselves and their own partners. Jason closed his eyes and she allowed him to rest his chin atop her head.

Cheryl found herself wondering when he’d gotten so much _taller_ than her. They’d been about equal in height until freshman year. That was when they began to—well—blossom. For Jason’s part, he must have gained a half-foot in height in a year. His shoulders broadened out. His face grew leaner. He got to look, Cheryl had to admit, pretty good. That was when she realized she was going to have to guard him from other girls. Such as, for example, Veronica Lodge. But she didn’t have to concern herself with that right now. For the moment at least, she was sure her position was secure.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s been bugging you lately,” she whispered. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Please don’t worry about me,” Jason implored. He pressed a brief, soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Wouldn’t you worry about me if I was going around acting like someone pissed in my cereal?”

“Well—of course but that’s not the—not the same,” he asserted.

“Oh? You’re not worth worrying about?”

“That’s not it.”

“What, then?”

“It’s—there are better things to turn your attention to.”

“Mmm. Are you coming to Thornhill after this? For my party?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Dad’s thing, remember? With Mr. Lodge?” he said, ruefully.

“Right. Wait—did Dad do something to you? Is that what’s wrong?” she demanded.

“No!” he said far too quickly, and Cheryl got the distinct feeling she’d hit on something.

“Mhm. Alright, Jason. If you say so.”

And she tried to enjoy the rest of their dance.


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s been quite a few years, Cliff.”

Hiram reached out and gripped Cliff's arm. The two men shared a brief, stiff embrace. Jason hung back.

His father turned and waved him forward. “Come and say hello, Jason,” he implored.

Jason took a step up. Hiram Lodge was about his father’s height, so a few inches shorter than Jason himself. Still, the man exuded power and command. 

Hiram smiled, teeth sparkling white against his olive skin. He reached out and grasped Jason’s hand, tight.

“You’ve got a handsome son, old man,” he joked. Jason forced a smile. Behind Hiram stood a phalanx of men in suits, looking like a Hollywood mafioso’s bodyguards. Cliff himself had brought two heavies recruited from the Ghoulies, stripped of their leather jackets and grunge and stuffed into semi-presentable clothing.

“Thank you, sir,” Jason mumbled.

“Have you met my girl Veronica yet?” Hiram inquired.

“Once or twice.” Jason wondered, for a moment, where Veronica was, then remembered his sister’s party back home.

Another dazzling smile. “I think you’d like her.”

“I’m sure.”

Hiram patted on him on the shoulder, then shunted him aside to turn his attentions onto his father.

“Riverdale’s much the same as I left it,” Hiram said.

“Time moves slowly here,” Cliff said. 

Hiram motioned for his guests to follow. The three, followed by their guards, slipped into the Pembrooke, up the stairs, and into the suite leased in the Lodge family’s name which was soon to be theirs entirely. Jason found himself examined the penthouse’s decoration. It was a different sort of wealth than the he was accustomed to. It was a little less subtle. Their host invited them to sit down.

“Get comfortable.”

“I have to say, Hiram,” Cliff started, “when I heard you were coming back into Riverdale, I was surprised. I didn’t think anything less than New York could hold a man of your… stature.” Jason caught the shaded complaint.

“You’d be surprised,” Hiram replied. “A wholesome little town is just what my family and I need.”

“Is it?”

Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“But—come on now, Cliff,” Hiram went on. “All of the pleasantries are a little silly, aren’t they? We both know why we’re here. You’re worried. And you shouldn’t be.”

Cliff stiffened. He didn’t appreciate his mask of congeniality being so unceremoniously torn away. Jason flinched at the quiet fury that colored his father’s face. 

“Well, Hiram. Still as direct as you always were, I see.”

Hiram grinned again. “I pride myself on it.”

Jason watched Hiram’s row of bodyguards.

“Well then, by all means, keep on being direct.”

“You know why I left New York. Why I _really_ left New York,” Hiram said.

Cliff didn’t respond.

“Come on, Cliff. You’re not going to make me spell it out, are you?”

There was still nothing.

Hiram smiled. Again. “Things were getting too hot. So I had to jump ship. But you knew that. And you also know it doesn’t mean I’ll be letting go of the reins of my empire. I’m sure you, of all folks, know all about the… purchases I’ve already made here in Riverdale.”

Cliff broke his silence. “The theater?”

“Among others. And like I said, you’re worried, aren’t you? I know our… clientele shares quite a bit of overlap.” He chuckled. “If there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that no matter where—or when—you go, folks—especially kids—like nothing more than snorting, smoking, and injecting.” He turned to Jason. “By the way, Jason, I’ll tell you now: sell, don’t use. Let your friends’ brains turn to mush. Keep yours sharp.”

Jason didn't say anything. He nodded. 

“I don’t know if ‘worried’ is the word I’d use,” Cliff said. “More like ‘curious’. How is it exactly you see yourself functioning in Riverdale?”

“Well, you can tell me all about that, can’t you?”

Jason felt the air in the room burn. Cliff sat up higher in his seat, determined to maintain his tenuous control over the situation. Jason wondered if maybe consenting to a peace conference in the enemy’s castle hadn’t been something of a mistake on his father’s part. The two Ghoulies took a step closer.

“Supply networks, trustworthy partners, all of that,” Hiram continued. “From one entrepreneur to another.”

Cliff spread his hands. “What sort of businessman would I be if I went and spilled all of my trade secrets to a competitor?”

Hiram snorted. “We don’t have to be enemies. This isn’t some gangster flick.”

Jason squirmed in his seat.

“‘Competitor’ isn’t equal to ‘enemy’, Hiram,” Cliff retorted, voice low.

Hiram’s easy smile flattened out. “Allow me to be ‘direct’ again, then. What you do is sell drugs. Cliff said nothing. Hiram continued. “That’s what I do, too. Among other things. Now, I’ve come back to Riverdale looking to make a peaceful life for myself, my wife, and my daughter. And I’d like very much to continue my work here. And I want to clarify I’m not asking permission. I can promise you I’ve moved five times more than you ever have, Cliff. Now, I’d like to think we could work this out like gentleman. You get a slice of the pie; I get a slice of the pie. But if you don’t want to share, then I won’t hesitate to simply take the entire pie for myself. I don’t need this pie. I have others. And I’m not sure you do. But I want my piece. And I promise you, it’s in your best interests to let me have it.”

Cliff’s jaw tightened. Jason’s breath hitched. He half-expected someone to draw a weapon. He said a quick prayer. For what, he wasn’t sure. Safety. _Sanity_. He was queasy. There was nothing Jason wanted less than to be caught up in the middle of a drug war.

“A ‘piece of the pie’?” Cliff asked, voice trembling with rage. 

Hiram went for the jugular. “Jason,” he called, and the boy snapped to attention, unwilling to make the situation any worse than it already was. “You’ve been quiet.”

“He’s not here to talk,” Cliff snapped.

“I’m being reasonable don’t you think?” Hiram asked, ignoring the father in favor of his son.

Jason felt like he had a knife to his back and a pistol to his head. There was no safe answer to give.

“I’ll—I’ll defer to you two,” Jason finally answered, shaking.

Cliff stood. One hand he slipped behind his back, to hide the way it shook in fury. Jason could see it but Hiram could not. Jason found himself wishing he were a turtle with a shell to disappear into.

“Piece of the pie. I’ll need some time to think about all of this,” Cliff forced out. He gripped his son’s shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise and pulled him to his feet as well. Jason rose slowly. “Wonderful speaking with you, _Hiram,_ ” Cliff snapped. “Come on, Jason.”

The two Blossom men, followed closely by the Ghoulies they’d brought along, exited the Pembrooke into a chilly night. It wasn’t until they slipped back into the car and the engine roared that he released his fury.

“Dad—” Jason started, hoping there was something he could to defuse his father.

“That son of a bitch!” Cliff roared. “That absolute, slimy son of a bitch! He comes into _my_ town. He waltzes into Riverdale with his bitch wife on his arm and he has the goddamn _nerve_ to demand _I_ accommodate him?”

Jason blinked, unsure if it was a real question he was supposed to answer or simply a rhetorical one.

“The smug bastard should have stayed in the city,” he went on, his face red. Jason began to fear his father might suffer a conniption.

“What uh—what are you going to do?” Jason asked, feeling he had a responsibility to stay abreast of his father’s amoral shenanigans, for safety if no other reason.

“We’ll think of something.”

_I’m sorry, ‘we’?_

He realized, belatedly, that with his graduation to ‘manhood’, as seen by his father at least, he was supposed to take some measure of responsibility in the family ‘business’. That of course, would mean complicity in Cliff’s scheming.

He wanted a drink. Or a nap. Or a hug.

More than anything, a hug.

* * *

 

Cheryl greeted her party guests in the parlor, still in her red formal dress, sans stiletto heels, ginger hair falling free over her shoulders.

“Welcome to chez Blossom,” she drawled.

“Oh my God,” Veronica breathed, gripping Betty’s arm. They crossed the threshold and the dark mansion swallowed them up. “Vampires live here.”

“I heard that, Lodge,” Cheryl snapped.

“Holy shit, this fridge is stuffed,” Reggie Mantle called from the kitchen.

“Keep your claws out of there!” Cheryl yelled.

The imperious redhead summoned her partygoers to the Blossom family’s lounge.

Veronica flounced over to an armchair and sat down. “So, Cheryl Bombshell,” she baited. “Where’s your pretty brother? I thought you two were joined at the hip.”

Cheryl’s fair face colored with… _something_ at her words. Her red cheeks brought a triumphant little smirk to Veronica’s lips. She’d surely discovered the chink in Cheryl’s armor.

“He’s out,” Cheryl answered, curtly.

“Really?” Veronica pressed on. “Out where?”

“With my dad. At some… thing.”

“Some… thing?”

Cheryl crossed her arms and flashed the most affected of smiles. “You sure are a nosey nellie tonight, aren’t you, Veronica?”

“Just curious. And, I’m also curious—” Veronica threw on her bitchiest smile. “Is he single?”

She expected a reaction, but she didn’t expect the flash of terrified indignation in the pretty redhead’s eyes. Veronica couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. This wasn’t a chink in the armor. This was the weak spot beneath the dragon’s throat.

“N—yes—no,” Cheryl sputtered.

Veronica cocked her head. She couldn’t avoid the temptation to have a little fun with this. “No—yes? I’m not familiar with that one. Is that like Schrödinger’s answer?”

“You can’t go out with him,” Cheryl blurted out. Her next expression was less royal indignation than a sort of lost helplessness that almost made Veronica feel a little bad.

“Is that so?”

* * *

 

Cheryl was _indignant_ , to say the least. She’d invited the new girl (along with Cooper of course) over in hopes of probing her for weakness and insecurity. In short, it had been intended as a fact-finding mission. She had to be sure she maintained her position at Riverdale High, and the best way to do that was to nip the ambitions of any potential rivals in the bud.

Instead, Veronica rather quickly seemed to have identified one of her sore spots. And it was a  _real_ sore spot.

She couldn’t help it though. Cheryl _hated_ it when girls went after Jason. She wasn’t surprised that they did. He was so handsome, so smart and charming. But she still didn’t like it. _Especially_ when they sidled up to her and asked for advice, or to put in a good word for them (She always did the exact opposite, of course.) When he’d finally broken up with Polly Cooper, Cheryl had been over the moon.

Cheryl was a smart girl. She’d figured out a while back that open jealousy of her brother’s affections didn’t land well with most people. So she learned to keep it to herself, which was tantamount to shoving the lid down on a boiling pot. And it didn’t help when someone like Veronica Lodge waltzed in and started needling her about it.

Cheryl scowled at the dark-haired beauty sitting next to her.

“My brother’s off-limits.” She fluffed her hair, desperate to show how absolutely calm and _not_ riled up she was.

“Is that so?”

“Not sure why you’d be interested anyway, though.” Cheryl side eyed Betty Cooper across the room. “You and our little blonde angel over there seemed to be hitting it off.”

Now it was Veronica’s tanned cheeks that flushed red. Cheryl’s full lips split into a victorious sneer. She was regaining the initiative.

“Going as dates to a back-to-school dance doesn’t mean much.”

“Really, now? And here I was hoping a tall, dark stranger from out of town would come in and sweep sweet little Betty Cooper off of her feet.” Veronica’s already red face brightened. Cheryl smirked. “Well, scratch the ‘tall’ bit.”

“I—”

“Look,” Cheryl cut her off, eager to cut short the verbal exchange of fire before it turned against her again. “Enough cattiness. This _is_ supposed to be a party, after all. Let’s do something fun.” She followed up with a satanic little grin.

Reggie emerged from the kitchen carrying a box of Oreos.

“Preferably before Reggie eats everything in my house.”

“A reasonable fear.”

“Why don’t we try old-school tonight?” Cheryl said a little louder, for the first time in the night speaking to the room at large. “Seven minutes in heaven?”

Reggie almost dropped his Oreos in excitement.

The game proceeded smoothly.

Particularly smoothly, since the chance that's to govern games like ‘spin the bottle’ or ‘seven minutes in heaven’ was totally subverted, thanks to Cheryl Blossom’s pathological need to control destiny. Something like this was too important to be left to chance. She measured and timed the spin and the speed of the bottle with mathematical precision. Few noticed that they were being coldly excluded from the proceedings by design rather than by random happenstance.

Cheryl selected her next target—one of course she’d selected long before the game began.

“My vote is ‘V’ for Veronica.” She reached out a svelte, well-manicured hand and spun the bottle. The last few spins had given her a bit of practice. She knew just the force with which to hit it. That sweet spot that would bring it to a stop exactly where she wanted it. Her guests, ignorant of her calculations, watched the bottle’s progress with rapt fascination.

Cheryl followed the bottle’s movements with lazy, accomplished satisfaction.

It came to a stop, slowly, grinding across the hardwood floor. And when it was finished, the bottle’s neck aimed squarely at Betty Cooper.

“I—” Betty started.

Cheryl fixed her gaze on Veronica, who once again blushed furiously.

Cheryl smiled with satisfaction. She was back in the saddle. “Well, would you look at that?” she remarked. Archie Andrews shifted uncomfortably in place. “Will our two love-birds be repairing to the closet of love?”

Veronica opened her mouth to speak, but succeeded only in helpless stuttering. “No, _Cheryl_ ,” she managed. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but I’m cutting it out right now.”

Cheryl smirked. “Is that so? Well you’re free to refuse, but your doing so means _I_ get to take your place, as dictated by age-old custom.” Cheryl stood, tall and victorious. In two steps she cleared the space between them and took Betty by the arm. She gently brought the blonde to her feet.

“Wait! Goddammit.” Veronica spit.

Cheryl studied her face. What was there was eminently recognizable as jealousy. Victory. Veronica may have discovered one of the Blossom heiress’ soft spots, but Cheryl had in turn created a new one for her. It was clear enough that she _liked_ Betty Cooper. Cheryl breathed a quiet little sigh of relief.

“V, we don’t have t—”

“Come on, Betty,” she growled. She took Betty by the hand and pulled her into the closet. The door clicked quietly shut behind them. Cheryl watched, smiling.

“No way!” Reggie cackled.

“Cheryl—” Archie started.

“Shut it, Andrews.”

* * *

 

Betty and Veronica stumbled into the closet. Cheryl, with a smile of brutal triumph, slammed the door shut behind them. The two girls groped about in the darkness. The closet was large enough that they could stand apart without pressing up against each other. That was a mercy, at least. They fell into a silence. So did their classmates assembled outside. Betty coughed.

It was Veronica who finally worked up the courage to reach up and pull the light cord. The bulb flickered once, and then stabilized and bathed them both in a white, incandescent glow. Veronica crossed her arms.

Betty backed up against a rack of shoes. Her knees clattered against the shelf. She gasped.

“Calm down,” Veronica giggled. “It’s just a dumb party game.” She noticed Betty practically shivering.

“Yeah, I know,” the blonde said with a thin, frightened smile.

Veronica took a step forward. She laid a hand on Betty’s arm. “Look, I may be new here, but I already know our redheaded terror inside and out. She wants one of us—preferably _you_ —to make a fuss. So let’s just… not do that, and Cheryl loses. Right?”

Betty smiled again. This time it was more genuine.

“Yeah,” she brushed a lock of golden hair behind her ears. Blue eyes twinkled. “You know… I have to say… it’s kind of nice to see her _scared_ for once. I think she’s afraid a worthy challenger has finally arrived.”

“You think I’m a worthy challenger?” Veronica teased.

“Sure!” Betty exulted. “You remind me a little of a nicer, much more tolerable Cheryl.”

Veronica sighed. She turned her eyes up to the little light bulb in the ceiling. “Well, that would make sense, wouldn’t it? I was a bit of a Cheryl in my day.”

“In your day?” Betty raised an eyebrow.

Veronica laughed. “By which I mean ‘a year ago’.”

“What do you mean ‘a bit of a Cheryl?” Betty prodded.

“Well I… no, you don’t to hear the stories of a recovering mean girl.”

Betty pursed her lips. “Maybe I do?”

“Thing is… I’m not sure if I _want_ to tell you because… I kinda like you, and I don’t want you to hate me,” Veronica said.

“I try not to judge people on their pasts,” Betty said.

“Pasts are instructive,” Veronica answered.

“Sure, but at the end of the day, it’s what we do going forward that matters.”

Veronica smiled. “See, that’s why I like you.”

“You’ve only known me for a few days,” Betty said. “You can’t like me _that_ much,” she laughed.

“Well, I pride myself on being able to get a good read on people.”

“Oh? And what’s your read on _me_?” Betty asked, cocking a hip.

Veronica took a deep breath. “You’re sweet, but not _too_ sweet. You like to figure things out. You think things ought to be fair and good as they can be, and it really burns you when they aren’t. You value justice.” She paused for a moment. “Sorry… didn’t mean to get all ‘psychoanalysis’ on you there.”

Betty giggled. “No, no. It’s fine. I liked it. Wanna hear my estimation of you?” Betty took a few steps closer, until she was about a foot from Veronica.

“Sure. Lay it on me.”

“You’re a cool girl who’s hoping Riverdale is the kind of place she can try to redeem herself from some maybe not-so-cool things she’s done.”

Veronica’s grin widened. “You’ve got me pegged, Cooper.” She swallowed and chewed over her next words for a few moments. “You’re also really cute… as far as my analysis of you goes.”

Betty’s fair cheeks got a little red. Veronica got a little satisfied.

“They can’t hear us out there, can they?” Betty asked.

“I doubt it,” Veronica shook her head. “They’re all drunk off of their asses.”

Betty leaned in and suddenly gave Veronica a brief peck on the lips. Then she drew away. The light dusting of pink on her cheeks deepened into an angry scarlet. Her bright blue eyes went wide. Her lips parted.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I… I’ve had too much to drink—” she stammered.

Veronica giggled again. “Betty Cooper, you’ve had half a cup of stale beer at _most_.” She leaned in, took Betty gently by the shoulders, and initiated another kiss. A real one, this time. Betty had a truly soft pair of lips. Once she’d had enough, Veronica broke it off, leaving a truly starry-eyed, stunned, messy-haired Betty Cooper staring back at her with a glazed look on her face.

“Wow… you’ve got to tell me what kind of chapstick you use,” Veronica said.

“Does… does this mean Cheryl won?” Betty asked.

Veronica smiled reassuringly. “Well, she hasn’t gotten a rise out of us, so I’d say that means _we_ won.” She winked mischievously. “I _definitely_ won.”

“ _Too_ bold!” Betty scolded.

“I pride myself on it.”

* * *

 

Betty and Veronica’s closet date lasted two minutes less than the standard time. When they exited, flustered, annoyed, and quiet, they came face to face with a _very_ satisfied Cheryl Blossom.

The party didn’t last much longer after that. The guests cleared out pretty quickly. Cheryl waved off her victims with a smile and a coy little wink.

Soon, she was alone in her house, with only the darkness, and the knowledge that she’d scored against her new rival. The clock struck 2:00 AM.

It was another thirty minutes after that when she heard the telltale sound of car tires squelching on the gravel outside, and her father and brother came home at last. Cliff stormed into Thornhill without a word and disappeared up the stairs.

Jason followed behind him, looking even worse than he had for the past week. The Blossom twins were pale by nature, but tonight he looked like a vampire had fed on him. He was the color of a sheet, save for the dark half-moons beneath his watery blue eyes.

He all but collapsed into her arms.

“Can I have a hug?” he asked, in a voice so frail and meek he sounded nine years old again.

“I—of course.” She put her arms around him, and he did the same, resting his chin atop her head. Cheryl felt his heart thrumming against her cheek. Unconsciously, she nuzzled closer to him. She always liked it when he held her like this. She could feel his heartbeat, and the warmth of his body against her. It reminded her how human he was. How human they _both_ were. Through their dark, unhappy childhoods, it was always he that protected her. He protected her from bullies, from their parents, and from life itself. It was rare that _he_ needed comfort from _her_ , but when he _did_ she was too happy to oblige.

Cheryl rubbed his back. He sighed.

“I feel like crap,” he murmured.

Cheryl pulled out of the hug a little bit. She pushed a few stray strands of red hair from her brother’s eyes, and ran a hand through his ginger locks, silky and soft as they were. Cheryl wasn’t exactly sure what it was he did with his hair, but she was almost jealous of how nice it felt. Then again, that might have just been because it was _his_. She smiled at him, and a little bit of the light came back into his face.

“You _look_ like crap,” she replied, gently.

“Mmm,” he sighed, pulling her back into his arms. “What time is it?”

“Like—three, maybe?”

“God, I’m tired.”

“I’ll bet.”

She took him by the hand, tracing little circles over his palm with her thumb.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he finally announced. Cheryl refused to release his hand, and he dragged her all the way to his room. Without bothering to do more than slip his shoes off, he collapsed onto the bed. Cheryl hovered in the doorway, still clad in her red dress, looking inordinately frazzled.

“Well—goodnight,” she said.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Come here—please.”

She stepped back into the room. “What?”

“Come here,” he beckoned, patting the bed at his side.

She furtively sat down beside him. Jason hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her down to lie beside him. She yelped in surprise and he chuckled.

“Just lie here with me for a bit. ‘Til I feel a little less like crap.”

She put an arm across his chest and nestled her head into the hollow of his neck. Cheryl studied her brother’s face, drawn and weary as it was. She had always thought he was so handsome, with his aquiline nose, and full lips and bright blue eyes—it was no wonder he always had so many girls falling all over themselves for his affections. Not that any of them were near deserving of him, as far as she was concerned. 

“You’re freezing,” she chided.

He smiled, and pulled her a little closer to him. “Help me warm up, then.”

It was her face that suddenly felt quite warm. This was too much blushing for one day, on her part.

Jason took one of her hands in his. He gently kissed her knuckles.

“Jason—you know you can trust me with anything, right?”

“Of course I do.”

She stuck her bottom lip out. “Then why is it sometimes I feel like you don’t?”

He smiled. “Do you tell _me_ everything?”

“More or less.”

“Well, there it is. The ‘less’.”

“But when something’s really, _really_ bothering you, I’d like to know.”

Jason sighed. He reached out and playfully toyed with a strand of her red hair. “Can’t we talk about something else? Please?”

“Such as?”

He smirked mischievously. “Have I mentioned how great you look in that dress, Cher?”

She smacked him playfully on the arm. “I abhor your cheap flattery.”

Jason slipped an arm around his sister’s waist and pulled her closer. “Nah. You love it.”

Cheryl pressed her face to her brother’s chest and allowed herself to be lulled into a deep relaxation by the steady beat of his heart. He brought his free hand lower and rubbed gentle circles on the small of her back. She yawned.

“You know, Veronica Lodge was asking about you,” Cheryl said suddenly, spitting the name out with undisguised vitriol.

Jason smiled roguishly. “Really? She interested?”

Cheryl propped herself up on her elbows, her deadly-serious stare burning through the darkness. “You can do _much_ better, dear brother.”

“Funny, you said I could do much better than Polly Cooper, too.”

“Well, you could have. And thank God that little indiscretion’s over.”

“If you keep raising my standards for me, soon I’ll have to start dating movie stars.”

“I just want you to find someone who’s a good fit for you. You know, a pretty face with some brains behind it.”

“Do you know anyone who fits the bill?”

She shifted on the bed and moved closer to him. He turned his head to look her in the eye. Cheryl noted, with equal parts dismay and excitement, that his lips were about a half-inch from hers.

“I’m sure I’d know them the second I met them.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” he said, breath hot against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. Cheryl felt her flesh prickle in the cool air of the room, a sensation that was far from unpleasant.

“Mmmhmm. And _I’m_ sure that special someone is neither Veronica Lodge nor Polly fucking Cooper.” Cheryl allowed herself to run a hand through his silky hair again. Then she pressed a light, gentle kiss to his cheek. Her lips just barely brushed the corners of his as she pulled away. Neither said anything.

“I guess I’ll keep looking.” He closed his eyes and sank back into the mattress.


	4. Chapter 4

Cheryl awoke with her brother still fast asleep in her arms. Shafts of sunlight trickled through the curtains into the room. The glow reflected on Jason’s bright ginger hair; his soft, curling eyelashes fluttered at the light’s touch.

 _He’s so lovely,_ she thought. In the stillness of sleep, he almost looked like a statue. Handsome and silent and perfect. Removed. Distant. Sort of ephemeral.

Except he was right here. Soft, human, curled up in her arms, his head flush against her breast. Vulnerable. 

She was more than a little disappointed when his bright blue eyes finally flickered open and he stirred awake.

“Mmm… shit, did you fall asleep here?” he asked, voice smoky. “Not—it’s fine, I mean,” he tacked on quickly. He yawned.

 _You’re cute when you yawn,_ she stopped herself just short of saying. And thank God for that.

Realizing how hopelessly he was bound up in her arms, Jason gently peeled her away, ignoring her sharp gasp of protest. He moved to get up. She followed, and he briefly protested, “ _You_ don’t have to get up!”

Cheryl took a moment to appreciate the dry humor in his removing himself from his _own_ bed for her sake. “It’s okay,” she muttered. “It’s—” She groped for her phone and checked the time. “God, it’s almost noon.”

Jason shrugged, adjusting his hair. “It’s Saturday, no big deal.”

He slipped out of the room and left her alone in his bed. She collapsed back onto the comforter, spreading her arms wide. Though Jason was gone, his presence lingered. Cheryl rolled over, running a hand over the vanishing indentation his body left in the comforter. It was still warm. Cheryl sighed and sank into the bed again.

She caught another half hour of sleep.

* * *

 

Jason left his sister alone in his room.

He told himself, because she seemed tired and could stand another few minutes of rest.

Really, it was probably because the experience of waking up in her arms had been a bit of a jarring one, and he was eager to put a bit of distance between them. Just for the moment. He meandered down the stairs to Thornhill’s ground floor. As he went he felt ever grimier, little surprise considering he’d fallen asleep in his clothes last night. Eyes still bleary, he stumbled into the downstairs bathroom, remembering too late that this was the one with the shitty water pressure.

He stripped his t-shirt off and tossed it into the waiting hamper. Jason checked himself in the mirror, in that way he only did when he was sure no one else was looking.

He slipped into the shower and turned the knob. A trickle of lukewarm water poured down over his head. He closed his eyes. The sun broke in through the slats of the bathroom window. Warm rivulets of water rolled down over his cheeks and lips.

Waking up this morning had felt better than it had in ages.

When they were children, Cheryl and Jason had shared a bed. It wasn’t like they could count on their parents to give comfort or reassurance if one of them had a bad dream or a particularly awful day. Penelope and Cliff had frowned and grumbled of course, but they’d tolerated it. For a while.

When Jason was eight years old, Cliff had his room refurnished and bought him a truckload worth of toys and games to incentivize a move. All that seemed like a pittance to Jason in exchange for giving up the comforting presence of his sister. So Cliff had put his foot down, dropped the carrot, unleashed the stick, and simply forced him to move into his own damn room once and for all.

After much protesting and haggling from both twins, they at last surrendered to their father’s will.

Until last night, Jason hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

It was lovely to have someone next to you while you slept. The warmth. The gentle rhythm of her breathing and her heartbeat. The knowledge that there was someone else next to you, that you had a friend in the darkness—well, nothing could replace that.

But it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d shared his bed since boyhood.

He’d had more than a couple of girlfriends. Most recently Polly Cooper, with whom he’d broken things off about a month prior.

But—well, that was different. How? There was the physical sense of companionship, certainly, but the psychic component was missing. It had never been there, not since his father had seized him by the ear and marched him off to his very own bed alone all those years ago.

So clearly, it wasn’t so much sharing a bed as much as it was _whom_ he was sharing with.

Jason shut off the shower head and blinked away a few drops of soap. He shook his head to clear away sleep, water, and unwanted thoughts. Slinging a towel around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Cheryl,” he responded, half-swallowing her name.

His initial instinct was to retreat back into the bathroom and shut the door. Cheryl descended the stairwell, her foot alighting on the bottom step and freezing there. She walked with the slow, unsteady gait of the awakened sleeper. She gazed at her brother with lidded eyes. Last night’s makeup had for the most part worn away, not that she looked any less lovely for it. She pressed her full red lips into a smile.

“Nice shower?”

A perfectly innocent question, and yet he suddenly felt indecent. He pulled his towel tighter around his hips. Jason felt the familiar and much-hated sensation of blood pooling in his cheeks. Goddamn his fair skin.

Cheryl cocked her head, raking her eyes over his bared chest and stomach. She took another step down the stairs, the curve of a shapely hip protesting against the confines of her dress.

“Mhhm,” he choked out.

“I need one, too,” she replied.

He very nearly said, _I would’ve waited for you_. Instantly, he was mortified by the fact that such a sentence could even cross his mind, much less find its way onto his lips. Jason felt an intense, prickling sensation in his stomach.

He moved up the stairs past her, eager to be dressed as soon as possible.

“Hey,” Jason started, trying to will the red from his cheeks, “thanks for staying with me last night.” He didn’t mean for it to, but his voice came across low. Secretive. Almost sordid.

“Of course,” she replied, sweetly. “What are sisters for?” She looked up at him, eyes big and liquid, her lips parted, full and plump. Jason had the sudden, overpowering urge to reach down and kiss her. Of course, being a sane young man, he did no such thing. He continued up the stairs, his fingers brushing against her wrist as he went by.

He slipped back into his bedroom, noting the indentation on his bed where Cheryl had slept. Across one of the stark white pillows, a streak of his sister’s bright red lipstick. He should wash that pillowcase. But he sort of didn’t want to.

Jason threw on a t-shirt one size too big, and a pair of washed-out old jeans. He slumped down onto the edge of his bed.

He tried to dislodge from his head the stubborn image of Cheryl on the staircase, devastatingly pretty in her sleep-ruffled dress. It proved impossible. It was weird. _Very_ weird. Jason had always known his sister was pretty, of course. Beautiful would be a better word. He wasn’t sure he could find a flaw on her if he tried—not that he ever had. But there was a difference between the sort of objective beauty that anyone could recognize without issue, and the sort of beauty that made one’s chest flutter and mouth go dry.

He traipsed back downstairs, head swimming.

Jason stepped into the dining room, hoping for perhaps the first time in his life that his father would be there too. Instead it was just Cheryl, perched at the head of the table in her bathrobe, picking at a sparsely populated plate of eggs and ham. He furtively took a seat on the opposite end of the table.

Cheryl lifted up her head to look at him. He tried and failed to nonchalantly refocus his gaze.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting,” he said, jaw set.

“Over there? Table’s not exactly packed.” She pulled out the chair next to hers and patted it invitingly. “Come on. You _know_ I don’t bite.” She bit at the air.

He relented, stood, and took his seat by her side.

Cheryl scooted a little closer to him.

“Do we need to have the personal space talk, again?” he teased.

Cheryl nudged his leg gently with a bare foot. With dreadful inevitably, his cheeks began to redden again. “I was stuck in a womb with you for nine months. You don’t _get_ personal space.” She nudged him again, secretly enjoying the way he stiffened every time she did so. “So, I was thinking…” she started.

“What?”

She shrugged. “We should do something today. You know, the two of us. It’s been a while since we have.”

“Sure.” Jason smiled.

Cheryl studied the smile. It looked genuine, if a little strained. She smiled back, full and hale, then leaned over and rested her head against his shoulder.

“What do you wanna do?” he asked.

“I don’t know…” she trilled. “What do you think?”

“You know I hate when you do this shit.”

“What?” she asked, innocently.

“Suggest we do something and then make _me_ decide what to do.”

“Well, it usually works, doesn’t it?”

He sighed in resignation. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

“Ugh. There aren’t any restaurants worth the time in this town. We’ve known that since we were five.”

“We can go sit by the river and stare at the water for a few hours.”

“Eh…”

“ _What do you want to do_?”

“How about the drive-in?”

“Why the hell didn’t you just say that to begin with?”

She grinned. “I was hoping I could make it seem like your idea.”

“God, you suck.” He gently socked her in the arm. She feigned hurt. “What are they playing, anyway?”

“I don’t know—we’ll let it be a surprise, hmm?”

“Your surprises are the worst,” Jason muttered.

“Whatever,” Cheryl replied, preferring not to recall the _last_ unfortunate incident—not in the least to save face. She slid out of her chair. The knot tying her bathrobe together slipped loose and the shoulder fell, exposing a white, creamy collarbone and the swell of her left breast. She leaned down and kissed Jason lightly on the cheek. “I’m gonna go get dressed. You can have my breakfast, if you want.” She squeezed her brother’s shoulder, then turned to go, hips swaying as she went. 

Jason squeezed his eyes shut as she rounded the corner and disappeared up the stairs.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself. Jason reached out tentatively. His hand froze in mid-air. With some effort, he completed the motion. He picked up Cheryl’s fork, speared a slice of ham, and brought it to his mouth. The morsel slid over his tongue. He could taste the heady warmth of her lips. It lasted a brief moment as he swallowed the slice of ham, then an intense wave of embarrassment washed over him, and he felt incredibly stupid. He set the fork down and swore under his breath.

Jason slid the plate’s contents into the trash and exited the kitchen.

* * *

 

Cheryl scoured her closet for a proper outfit. She was just going to the movies with her brother after all, so there was no need for full regalia. Still, she wanted to look _nice_. She hummed a little as she searched, and slowly came to realize she was in a better mood than she had been in a long time. And why shouldn’t she be? The drive-in was fun. Being with Jason was fun. It was about time she got to just sit back and relax.

She finally settled on a simple black-and-white skirt and a solid grey top. Cheryl smiled at herself in the mirror and fluffed her hair. She’d never been on a real, actual date before (though she had been inundated with requests since the fourth grade at least). She imagined it must feel something like this, though. It must be that soft, fluttery feeling that you were going to go somewhere you liked with someone you liked. It was really quite pleasant. Of course she wasn’t going to say that to Jason because it was just… weird. But she much preferred this to a ‘real’ date anyway.

Cheryl snatched up her purse and bounded down the hall to her brother’s room. She rapped on the door lightly. “Jason? JJ? Are you ready?”

The door swung open. Jason stepped out and touched her shoulder. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s go.”

He linked arms with her and they traipsed down the stairs. As they passed by Cliff’s study, Jason increased his pace ever so slightly. She said nothing.

Outside, the sun flickered in evening oranges and reds, painting Riverdale and the Eversgreen Forest. A light, late summer breeze started up. It whipped through the twins’ hair and tickled their exposed flesh. Cheryl slid into the passenger seat of the convertible and leaned back. The wind caressed her face, lulling her into a peaceable trance. She sighed in satisfaction. The angry twilight glow glinted on the car’s painted hood. Jason slid the key into the ignition. The engine grumbled to life.

“Cher, what time is it?”

She slid her phone out of her pocket and checked. “6:30.”

“We’ve got an hour. Want to stop by Pop’s and grab a milkshake or something?”

Cheryl reached out and squeezed her brother’s hand. 

“Sure. Sounds nice.”

Jason held her hand and traced small, gentle circles on the back of her palm with his thumb. Cheryl craned her neck back, staring up into the vast sky and the rolling cloud banks swollen with coming rain. Ahead of them, the sun was sinking beneath the treetops, which moved gently in the wind like rolling green waves. Behind them, darkness crept up over the mountains, glittering stars blinking into existence, and as they drove she felt like they were outrunning the night.

They pulled into Pop’s parking lot just ahead of the darkness. 

Cheryl entered the diner first. Pop, embroiled in the eternal routine of wiping clean his ancient Formica countertop, raised his head and smiled.

“Hi, there, Cheryl,” he said, a smile on his meaty face. Jason followed behind her, and Pop nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hi, Pop!" Cheryl said in a bright, saccharine voice. 

They took their usual booth, two down from the door.

The place was delightfully empty, save for themselves and Pop Tate. It was a little odd for a Saturday evening, but it was nice. They ordered their usual: one milkshake, two straws. Pop Tate never thought it was weird.

“So, what movie are we seeing?” Cheryl asked, in an effort to break her brother from his sudden trance.

“Oh. I’m not sure, actually.” He smiled. “It’ll be a surprise.” He sipped the milkshake. “I think the Twilight is doing classics week or something, though.”

“Fun.” She paused a moment. “So… not to get all Oscar award winning tearjerker speech on you—though I _am_ good at those, as we both know—but I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“Going to the movies, you mean?”

“Well… yeah. Just doing stuff together again. You know, you’ve been a little gloomy over the past few days. And uh…”

“What?” Jason reached out and covered Cheryl’s hand with her own.

“Just… sometimes I worry you don’t like hanging out with me anymore.”

He snorted. “Cheryl… okay, I don’t want to get sappy either, but I love hanging out with you. Really, I do.” He took her hand. “Look, if I had to choose between hanging out with all the jackasses from the football team and you for the rest of my life, I’d choose you every time.” He kissed her knuckles softly. “Every time, Cher.”

She smiled. It was a real, genuine smile. There was nothing sarcastic or pretended in it. It was good to see, Jason thought.

“Love you,” she said, quietly on the off chance someone might catch her in a vulnerable moment.

“Love you more.”

Cheryl felt her spirits lift. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

Jason checked his phone. “Hey. It’s 7:10. Come on. We wanna catch the beginning, right?”

“Of course! Tardiness does not become the Blossoms.”

They stood and paid for their treat. Pop bid two of his most regular customers farewell. “You two have fun.”

“We might,” Cheryl replied with a smile

Pop waved goodbye, and they stepped out of the diner and returned to the car.

By the time they reached the Twilight, its namesake had come and gone, leaving little Riverdale dark. A net of stars twinkled in the sky, and a crescent moon swam languidly through the heavens, shrouded in the smoky clouds.

The car rolled to the stop at the box office. Jughead Jones—who worked the projector, sold tickets, and kept the patrons in order—met them. He tipped his beanie in a mocking welcome.

They paid the requisite price for two tickets.

“Really ought to charge you double,” Jughead quipped.

“Ha ha. What obscure, Eastern European New Wave feature do you have prepared for us today?” Cheryl asked.

“ _Dracula_ _,”_ he replied, dryly.

“Oh. Wow. Something I’ve heard of. You’re moving up in the world,” she shot back.

“Go find a parking place. And try not to cry too much when he gets a stake through the heart.”

She flipped him off.

Jason eased the car past the box office, finding a spot comfortably near the rear of the lot. Far away, the surface of the Sweetwater River danced with a gentle draft. Jughead sold the last of his tickets and returned to the projection box over the drive-in theater. The turnout was a modest one; the lot was neither packed nor empty.

Cheryl rose on her elbows and hoisted herself up into the backseat of the car. The breeze bit through the thin material of her grey blouse and she suddenly regretted not choosing heavier clothes. She leaned forward over the driver’s seat and gripped her brother by the shoulders.

“Hey. Come on into the back seat,” she cooed. “It’s cold.”

It wasn’t _meant_ to sound flirtatious. But when it came out that way, she found she didn’t mind so much.

The projector flickered to life. An eerie score filled the air. 

Jason slid into the backseat alongside his sister. She snuggled up against him and let out an inadvertent sigh of satisfaction. He didn’t seem to mind.

Cheryl coughed. “I said I’m _cold_ , JJ. Now, what’s the _gentlemanly_ thing to do?” she teased.

He smiled at her. “Well, I’m sorry. I don’t have a jacket, Cher.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and she pressed her head to his chest. “Next best thing?” he asked.

“Next best thing,” she exhaled in breathy contentment.

Cheryl took her eyes off of the screen, where Renfield was entering Dracula's castle, and looked up at her brother instead. He returned her glances then turned away, then turned back again, his blue eyes flickering in indecision. He was excited or nervous, and she could not tell which. She mentally traced his features, fair and touched by shadows. His arm across her shoulder felt neither a bit too heavy nor a bit too light. It was perfect. The entire evening was perfect.

“Hey.” She sat up a little higher, to bring herself level with him, since he was a lot taller. What she did next she did without really thinking. Cheryl leaned in and placed a brief, chaste kiss on his lips. It was over as soon as it happened.

Jason’s eyes went wide. His mouth fell open. Cheryl felt her cheeks flush red, she felt her heart quicken. Her stomach turned as she had the horrible sensation that she’d made a great mistake.

But then before she could say anything, Jason leaned in, gripped her firmly by the arm, and pulled her into a kiss of his own, soft and firm. She gasped. His teeth gently raked at her bottom lip. She shuddered in delight. It was liberating. Cheryl clutched her brother tight and pressed herself up against him, so close she could feel both their hearts beating through their shirts. He put a hand on her hip, and she slid a leg over his, so that she was sitting astride him. Through all of it she refused to break the kiss.

When he did at last, Cheryl found herself straddling him, his hands firmly on her hips and hers on his shoulders. He looked up at her with a sort of pure, youthful adoration in his eyes. Like she hung the moon. A few stray streaks of lipstick stained his mouth and cheeks. She almost laughed. She’d never kissed anyone before. Not like _that_ , anyway. A few times in silly party games, perhaps. But never like this. And now, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to kiss anyone else ever again. She was also entirely at a loss as to what to do. A part of her—the burning, primal part of her—wanted to lean in and kiss him again and simply see what happened next. Reason made her show restraint.

“Wow…” Jason sighed. He seemed incapable of anything more, his cheeks ruddy with both the cold and the shock of the moment.

“Did you like it?” Cheryl asked, hoping it wasn’t too silly a question.

He simply nodded, looking very sweetly flustered. “I—” He sighed.

Cheryl felt her cheeks burn. She wished she wasn't so pale. 

“Can I—do you want—I’m going to go get us some popcorn, okay?” Her voice was shaking, and she was eager for some time to think. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just—just a coke,” he replied, voice strained.

Cheryl nodded, sprang out of the car, and hurried to the concession stand, mind swimming. Her first thought was that she certainly hoped no one had seen them. Her second was that that had been absolutely wonderful and she hoped it would happen again. Her third was that this was a very bad thing that should not happen again. Cheryl loved her brother. She loved him in many ways, and perhaps in ways she was not really supposed to, even if she had never quite been able to admit that to herself until just now. She never wanted to stop loving him. She was absolutely not the kind of girl to get caught up in moral dilemmas over whether or not this was ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. She was Cheryl Blossom and she did whatever she wanted and no fossilized moral code was going to have any bearing on that.

And yet, she still had an image to keep up. Not to mention the ever-terrifying question of their parents.

Her knees were weak when she arrived at the concession stand. She ordered a large popcorn, a sprite, and a coke, and wondered if she looked as flustered as she felt.

* * *

 

Jason sat in the backseat of the red Impala, head back, eyes closed. The sweet, sticky residue of Cheryl’s maple lipstick burned on his mouth. For what must have been the thirtieth time in the past five minutes, he tried to rationalize everything. This was a weird night. It was a weird couple of days. Things had gotten weird. But no _real_ lines had been crossed. Things could still go back to normal, he told himself.

That was a blatant lie, for more reasons than one.

Even if he could somehow undo the last half hour or so of his life, that really wasn’t the heart of the problem, and he well knew it. The real problem was that this evening wasn’t some sort of inexplicable anomaly. It had been a good, long time coming.

Jason had a sudden vision of himself crying in kindergarten when his exasperated teacher had explained to him that no, he couldn’t marry his sister. No, Jason, not ever. No, not even if you got special permission from the president.

His first girlfriend didn’t come around until he was fifteen, when he’d buckled and accepted a date from a pretty, persistent junior girl. When the rocky, mutually unsatisfying relationship had finally erupted in a volcanic argument a month later, “you spend way too much time with your sister. It’s like, creepy,” had been the heaviest accusations she’d leveled against him. Well _that_ had done it, really burned him, and he’d ended things then and there.

He’d had his share of girlfriends since then. More often than not, he’d been the one to break things off. And even if he would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, it was probably because he would inevitably compare them—unfavorably—to Cheryl.

They were never as funny. Never as beautiful. Never as smart. Never as—well, they _were_ usually less abrasive, but you could get _nice_  girlsanywhere. There was nothing special about _that_.

This had all been a long time coming. 

Tonight she’d kissed him and it had been better than anything he’d ever done with any other girl. It wasn’t even that he felt guilty. He’d read enough fiction to know he wasn’t going to do the whole, ‘we can’t do this, it’s wrong,’ bit. No, he didn’t feel guilty. It was just a bit overwhelming.

“Hey.” Cheryl appeared at the door and handed a large tub of popcorn and two drinks to him, before crawling back into the seat.

Cheryl—consciously, it seemed—placed the popcorn down between the two of them. The movie continued towards its finish. Jason felt he should do something. Say something. Reach out and touch her wrist, maybe. 

He did not. He turned to look at her. She didn’t catch his gaze, suddenly absolutely enraptured by the onscreen escapades of Bela Lugosi.

His stomach churned. Dracula crept into Mina's room. The taste of Cheryl’s lipstick began to fade.

The movie drew to a triumphant finish. Jason worked his way back into the driver’s seat and the engine purred to life.

They said nothing more to one another all the way home.


	5. Chapter 5

Jason drifted off sometime before 1:00 AM. Sleep came in fits and starts, and he fell into that uncomfortable limbo where he was not really sure if he was asleep or awake. Strange, phantasmal nightmares featuring the distorted face of his father, or of a dead Serpent in a warehouse, plagued him. He stood, threw open the window, and stared out onto the silent, wooded hills of Riverdale. The moon floated high overhead behind a thin screen of clouds. A sharp breeze swept into his room. He returned to bed, only to get up again within the hour.

Finally surrendering, he stood, threw on a shirt, and headed downstairs. He passed the dining room, the parlor, and stepped out into the garden. The fresh air might be good for hm. Hedges wreathed by colorful vines and flowers towered over him. Statues coated in moss and lichen kept an eternal vigil. He rubbed his face. The moon sailed overhead, fat and heavy. He sat down on a stone bench beneath a likeness of an angel. 

“Jason? JJ?” came Cheryl’s quiet, breathy voice. He jumped, whirling around to face her. She stepped gingerly out into the garden. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, as usual. Though it was loose and shapeless Jason could make out the shape of her waist and her hips and the swell of her breasts beneath the thin cotton.

“Hey,” he whispered back. He stood to meet her. She stepped towards him, pulling her shirt tighter around herself. Moonlight cut down through the clouds and illuminated the fitful, nervous expression on her lovely face. She sat down on the edge of the bench, eyes landing on everything but him.

“Hey,” he said again. “Why are you awake?”

“Why are _you_ awake? I just wanted to—” Her words died in her throat. It was surely the end of days if _Cheryl Blossom_ was at a loss for words. “I wanted to—” A gust of wind. She shivered. “I should have thrown on a robe,” she bleated in a futile attempt to change track.

He reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Come on. Out with it,” he urged, smiling for her benefit.

“I was thinking about—goddammit, you _know_ what I was thinking about,” she said at last.

Yeah. Of course he did. He felt butterfly wings in his stomach, an all-too common feeling as of late. Cheryl shimmied closer to him. Her great, luminous brown eyes shone in the darkness. Her full, sensuous lips parted, eager to speak, yet silent.

“The drive in?”

“Of course the damn drive in. Listen…I don’t know if I seemed…I _did_ like it—"

Impulsively, without a moment’s thought, he leaned down and kissed her. It was brief and chaste, and then done.

She stared up at him.

“Yeah, I think we’re on the same page,” she said, managing a mischievous little smile.

“Woah—"

Cheryl hoisted herself up, swinging one leg over his waist. She positioned herself in his lap, and he felt his entire body go rigid. His chest and stomach and loins tingled intently. His head swam with such force he thought he might swoon. He managed at last to bring a shaking hand to the small of her back, to hold her gently in place. Cheryl cupped Jason’s face in one hand and let the other one fall to his chest. Then she leaned in for another kiss, holding this one, savoring the taste of his lips.

“Wait…” he breathed.

“Do we really have to do the bit where we talk about how this is wrong and we can’t do this and then do it anyway? Because if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather skip over the middle-class morality.”

Jason balked. Then he laughed. The tension in his chest and gut vanished.

“Actually, I was just going to say, ‘You should probably close the door to the parlor.’”

She giggled.

Jason ran his hands over the tender skin of his sister’s creamy thighs, up to her hips. He hiked his shirt up around her waist. Cheryl sighed and leaned forward, eager and exhausted, burying her face in his shoulder. She clawed at his shirt, yanking it away, desperate to touch his bare skin.

Cheryl kissed his neck, relishing the steady thrumming of his heartbeat, quickening with each move she made.

“You’re so beautiful,” she sighed. “Always were.” She nibbled his earlobe, more gently then she’d ever treated anyone in her life. “Always were too good for any of the vapid idiots in this town.”

“But not for you?” he teased, squeezing her thigh playfully.

She laughed, bringing her lips close to his ear. Her warm breath tickled pleasantly.

“Nothing’s too good for me,” she purred.

He pressed a soft a kiss to her breast, and her breath hitched. He could remain here until sunrise without going a step further, just enjoying every inch of her perfect, lovely body and relishing all of the delightful little sounds she made.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for such a fucking long time,” he admitted. ”Does that make me screwed up?”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know what you want before _you_ do half the time,” she needled him. “I wasn’t even sure if _you_ noticed the way you looked at me sometimes. Guys are so fucking oblivious. Even to themselves, I swear.” She rubbed his bicep. “But don’t worry. I can read you like an open book.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Does it make you screwed up?” She grinned. “Yeah, probably. But we’re Blossoms, we’re supposed to be screwed up. It’s… an expectation.” Cheryl giggled.

He shoved aside thoughts of his father and just _how_ screwed up this family really was. He didn’t want to think about any of that. Not right now. He wanted to relax and let all of the evil slip away and enjoy this. For the first time in too long he felt truly, thoroughly, _really_ happy. Jason looked into his sister’s deep eyes, reflecting the silver moonlight, and he saw his own boundless adoration reflected there. He couldn’t even give voice to what he felt. Just a perfect, primal joy. No shame or instinctive disgust. This was as natural as anything he’d ever done.

Cheryl kissed him again, and he forgot everything but her.

* * *

 

She awoke with the first rays of sunlight pouring in through the half-open curtains. Jason’s arm was firmly wrapped around her waist, and her head pressed against his bare chest.

She hardly remembered getting up and going to bed last night, but God this felt nice.

She snuggled closer to him, and even in sleep he responded by pulling her tighter against him. She sighed in contentment. Bliss. The warm sun prickled her skin. She watched little particles of lint dance in the golden light. Her eyelashes fluttered. She wasn’t tired, but she wanted to keep lying here anyway. It was Sunday, right? Yeah, thank God, it was Sunday. She could sleep in. _They_ could sleep in.

Jason finally woke up a little before 9:00, his lovely blue eyes opening slowly to the glittering sunlight. Cheryl immediately darted forward and gave him a peck on the lips.

“Morning.”

He smiled, rubbed her back, and returned the kiss.

“Morning, Cherry.”

His eyes shone with that adoring gaze that always made Cheryl’s stomach flutter a little.

“You’re not planning on getting out of bed anytime soon, I hope,” Cheryl said.

Another kiss. He cupped her face, running a thumb carefully over her cheek, like she was something precious and invaluable.

“Nah.”

She slid one of her legs around his, entwining them. “Good. Not that I would have let you, anyway.”

He laughed. “Of course not. You always get your way, don’t you? Little brat.”

She scoffed in mock horror. “Excuse me, _Jason Blossom_ , but that’s rich coming from a boy whose hair gel costs more than most people’s houses. If _I’m_ a brat, I’d _hate_ to see what that makes _you_.”

“Point taken,” he said with another light laugh. “Now come here.” He put both of his arms around her waist and pressed her tight against him. Jason watched in delight as her cheeks turned bright red again, and her full lips pressed together into a line. “You are so, so, so, so beautiful. I can never get used to it.”

“Go on,” she prodded, grinning profusely.

“I used to live in dread of the day you’d get your first boyfriend,” he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure I could handle it.”

“How do you think _I_ felt every time you introduced me to your newest fling, huh? Talk about agony.”

He tugged her long ginger hair playfully. “Sorry.”

“All is forgiven.”

“Hey,” he said after a little while. “This isn’t something… I mean this isn’t the only time, right? This is… us now?” he asked, hopefully.

Cheryl squeezed his hand in reassurance. “This has always been us, JJ. And always will be, if I can help it.”

“God, I love you.”

Another kiss. This one sharper and hungrier.

“I know.”

* * *

 

Veronica’s finger hovered over the contact for the twentieth time.

“Come on, grow a damn spine, _”_ she growled to herself. She sucked in a deep breath. Wasn’t this the sort of thing someone should do in person? Nah. Screw it. They’d already broken the first barriers that night at the Blossom house. She was just taking the next step, right? What was the worst that could happen?

She dialed.

The phone rang three times, each echoing awfully through her head.

“Hello?” came Betty’s sweet, cheery voice. Veronica’s heart did a little flip.

“Hey, Betty,” she said. Her mouth was impossibly dry. She smacked her lips.

“What’s up?”

“I was wondering if uh… if… you wanted to grab something to eat at Pop’s today? With me?”

“Sure! You, me, Jughead, an—”

“Actually, I was thinking… just you and me,” she forced out, sweat trickling down her nose.

“Oh!” There was a moment’s dreadful silence. Then came the response: “Yeah. Absolutely. What time?”

Veronica pumped a fist silently in triumph. “I’ll text you.”

“Alright. See you later,” Betty chirped.

“Bye!”

Veronica hung up the phone, head spinning. She’d done it. She’d been overt enough, hadn’t she? It was pretty clear that this was a date, right? Yeah. Absolutely. Anyone would get that.

“Yes!” Veronica hissed.

Score another one for her. She truly was the best.

She flipped her phone onto the couch and set off for her room. Things really were turning out okay. Riverdale wasn’t that bad after all. She could make a life for herself here.

The horizon was bright indeed.

* * *

 

The horizon was dark.

Cliff Blossom was frantic. He was on the brink of extinction. It was all too clear that Hiram Lodge posed an existential danger to the future of the business. Already, the man was beginning to move his product through Riverdale, hiring out Serpents and Ghoulies to serve as runners and mules. Cliff could see the dent that would soon be hammered into his profit margins. It was like the hot burn of a rope around his neck. Something had to be done, and soon.

He had to show Hiram that the Blossoms were a formidable foe. Morality did not trouble Cliff as he considered his options. The only questions were those of efficiency.

He paced back and forth through Thornhill’s foyer, the picture of a distressed businessman. Thank God the house was empty.

In a flash, it came to him. It should have come to him earlier. Hiram had a daughter, of course. A daughter that he doted on. That was a weak spot for any man, particularly a man in a business like this. The plan slowly came together in his mind’s eye. It would be simple enough. The police would never get involved, Hiram wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that. They would settle this like gentlemen, and when it was through, Hiram would never dare step on his toes again.

Cliff swept out of the house, hopped into one of his many cars, and crept away through the cold, quiet streets of Riverdale. An early morning sun blazed down on him. A phone call wouldn’t suffice here; it would be a big, if simple, job. He took a sharp turn and headed into the Southside. The houses grew more dilapidated, more miserable, as he went on.

It was a half hour before he reached his destination: the smoky, mean little den the Ghoulies grandiosely called ‘the House of the Dead’. He knocked on the front door, hard. They were used to his visits by now.

A tall, wispy young man in a leather jacket opened the door.

“What’s up?”

“You know ‘what’s up’,” Cliff scowled. “I wanna speak to him.”

The Ghoulie gestured towards the interior of the house, and stepped aside.

“He’s in back.”

Cliff shook his head and stepped inside. It made his skin crawl to be in this nest of lowlifes, but it was a necessity. You had to deal with these sorts of people sometimes. He wound his way through curtains and sheets strung up in haphazard patterns, past men and women in various states of intoxication and undress, into the heart of the little lair.

Malachi lounged in a low chair, a cigarette between his lips, dark hair falling over his face.

“Hey, it’s Old Man Blossom,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Who let you in?”

Cliff didn’t answer. He sank into an empty chair opposite the man, making certain to keep his own posture ramrod straight. It was important to project an image of real power.

“I really don’t want any of your lip today,” Cliff snapped.

Malachi raised an eyebrow. One of the Ghoulies giggled.

“No? Then why’re you here, huh?”

“The only reason I ever come to this… shithole. I’ve got a job for your boys. Again.”

Malachi sat up, resting his chin on a fist. “Now _that’s_ interesting. What sort of job?”

“A big one.” Cliff allowed himself to lean back a little bit.

“Alright. Let’s get a little detail, huh?”

“Are you familiar with Hiram Lodge?”

“Sure, sure. New kid on the block. Already done business with him a few times. Good guy. My kind of guy.”

“Well, he’s not _my_ kind of guy,” Cliff said.

Malachi smiled. “Nah. Didn’t think so.”

“Are you aware he has a daughter.”

“Sure. A babe, too. I’ve seen her around town.”

“Well, good. Then you shouldn’t have any trouble _finding_ her,” Cliff said.

Malachi narrowed his eyes. He cocked his head. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s what I’m going to pay you to do. Assuming you want the money,” Cliff said through clenched teeth. He’d long ago grown tired of the man’s lazy, apathetic disposition.

Malachi smiled, a slow, bored smile. His teeth sparkled in the dim light of a single bulb. “But that’s not all, is it? You want us to find her and then…”

“Take her.”

The Ghoulies laughed. Malachi laughed. He clapped his hands together, greatly amused by the proposition.

“You want us to do a kidnapping job?”

“In a word? Yes.”

“You really think you can snatch the kid of a guy like _Hiram Lodge_ and expect to get away with it for a couple of hours at best? What do you think would happen if we grabbed uh… what’re your kids names? Johnny and Sharon? You’d have half the cops in New York state on our asses before I could say ‘ransom’, wouldn’t you?”

Cliff grimaced. “The police won’t get involved. Trust me.”

“Trust you? No offense, but if you want me to risk my ass and the ass of everyone of my guys on a ridiculous scheme like that, I’m going to need something a little better than ‘trust me’.”

“Hiram’s a businessman. Like me,” Cliff assured him. “He won’t be dumb enough to get the authorities involved.”

Malachi nodded in a way that suggested he didn’t entirely believe that. But he was listening, at least. “Where are we even supposed to hold her, huh?”

“I don’t know. Why not here? One of those old warehouses out by the river? Figure something out.”

Malachi relaxed back into his chair. He smirked again. He watched Cliff for a good, long while with dark, curious eyes. Cliff could see his mind working. Practically hear him toying with the idea in his head.

“No. No, sorry. You don’t get how risky that is, do you? It’s—”

“Save it. I absolutely _do_ get how risky it is. For me as well as for you. That’s why I’m ready to offer you 70,000 dollars.”

Malachi’s eyes went wide. He laughed. One of his cronies whistled.

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’m not joking, and you know me well enough to know that. Will you do it or am I wasting my time?”

The Ghoulies commiserated amongst each other. It was brief and heated, but in a minute or two Malachi had brought his crew to an agreement. There was little real dissent—he was in command here.

“Alright, Mr. Blossom,” Malachi said. He shifted in his seat, a nasty, eager smile on his face. “You’ve got my word as a gentleman that I’ll put Miss Veronica Lodge right into your hands. Even hog-tie her first, if you want. Shit, for that money, I’ll grab all of her friends, too.”

“No need for all of that. Just get it done as soon as possible. And let me know the moment you do. Understand?”

“I hear you, Mr. Blossom. Loud and clear.” Malachi laughed again. He extended his hand.

Cliff twitched, but reluctantly extended his own and shook it.

Then he stood, turned around, and exited the place as quickly as he could.


	6. Chapter 6

The Blossom twins returned to school the following Monday aglow. It was noticeable. Cheryl wasn’t nearly as abrasive or confrontational as usual. She _walked_ the halls for once instead of stalking them. She even dismissed cheerleading practice early.

“So, _someone’s_ in a good mood,” Veronica said, when they were the last two left in the gym.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “What, I’m not allowed to have my good days, too?”

“Oh you’re _allowed_ , I just didn’t think you were _capable,_ ” Veronica teased.

Cheryl wagged her finger. “Careful, baby, you _don’t_ want to be the one that spoils my mood.”

“And yet _even_ when you say that, it’s playful. Come on. _Something_ good clearly happened to you over the weekend. What, did you get laid or something?” she asked, voice low and mischievous.

She didn’t expect Cheryl to get so _red_. “Nothing that concerns you in the slightest, my dear,” Cheryl replied, stuffing her gym clothes into her bag.

Veronica’s smile widened. “If you _say_ so, Cheryl Bombshell.”

“And what are _you_ still doing here? I dismissed all of you ladies, didn’t I? Surely you don’t… _enjoy_ my company?” Cheryl teased.

“Of course not! I’m waiting on someone.”

Cheryl perked up. She turned around to face her rival­-cum-compatriot. “Oh? Who?”

“Betty,” Veronica replied.

Cheryl smiled one of her mischievous little smiles. “For…”

“A date,” Veronica said, in a perfectly calm, even tone that left Cheryl no room for teasing.

The redhead frowned, beaten. She finished packing up. “Well, congratulations to you two lovebirds,” Cheryl said at last.

“Thank you, Cheryl. I didn’t know you were capable of being happy for other people.”

“I’m capable of plenty,” Cheryl said. She brushed by Veronica and she strutted out of the gym, patting the short brunette on the shoulder as she went by.

Veronica shook her head and smiled. Something had certainly gotten into her. Riverdale High could only hope it stuck.

* * *

 

Cheryl strolled out of the gym and into the hall, bag slung over her shoulder. People still tended to clear out of her way as she went. On a normal day, she’d probably be doing her best to figure out how she could somehow twist Betty and Veronica’s burgeoning romance to her benefit. But she didn’t feel normal today. Much better than normal—she almost felt legitimately happy for the two, as a matter of fact. Most of all, it just didn’t interest her much.

She met her brother outside his last class of the day, flanked by a few of his friends from the team. He pulled her into a hug and half-spun her around before setting her down. They’d always done that, yet she never failed to notice the bemused, curious little looks people gave them when they did. She saw Reggie Mantle raise his eyebrows and Chuck Clayton smile from the corner of his mouth. 

“Hey,” Jason greeted her. She nearly stood on her toes to kiss him, and then remembered they were in a crowded high school hallway and so thought better of it. But she couldn’t keep an irrepressible smile off of her lips.

“Hi,” Cheryl cooed. She had no idea how long this honeymoon phase—this delightful-butterflies-in-my-chest-every-time-I-see-you phase—would last, but she hoped dearly it would be a while.

“Hey, so I’ll see you guys later,” Jason said to his friends.

“Hey, weren’t we supposed to—” Reggie began.

“Sorry. We’re tied up for the rest of the day,” Cheryl cut in with deep satisfaction.

Jason shrugged.

The boys sighed.

Jason put an arm around his sister’s waist—and maybe that was a little brazen—and together they strolled out of Riverdale High.

“So what is it we’re ‘tied up’ doing?” he teased as they reached the car.

“Oh, we can figure that out!” Cheryl grinned. She leap-frogged into the driver’s seat. “I’m driving today, by the way.”

He slid into the passenger’s seat without complaint. “Be my guest.”

Cheryl did a quick once-over of the parking lot to make sure it was good and empty, then she pressed a much-awaited kiss to Jason’s lips.

She turned the ignition and the car hummed to life. She didn’t drive the convertible often because truthfully it was a pain to handle, but she was spritely enough that day that she felt up to it.

Cheryl eased the car out of the parking lot and onto the road. She enjoyed the crunch of the gravel under the tires and the resistance of the wheel. The sun shone merrily over them, cutting down through thin wisps of puffy white clouds. It’s a lovely day.

“Watch the curb.”

“I know what I’m doing, Jason.”

He smiled. Then he reached out and covered one of her hands with his.

“Excuse me? I’m driving? Unless you want this to be the _last_ time you ever hold my hand I suggest you let go.”

He laughed and complied.

“So,” Cheryl went on, “back to ‘being tied up’. Afternoon’s free. What do you want to do?”

“Actually, I’ve got a biolog—”

“I said ‘the afternoon’s free’. Just pay Dilton to do your bio assignment again. Hell, he’ll probably do it for free.”

“Yeah. He probably would.”

She drove nowhere in particular, executing a rough loop around the school and then striking out in the direction of the Sweetwater River, before doubling back around again. Jason leaned back against the passenger door, eyes closed, as the breeze washed over him. Cheryl stared for longer than appropriate and then snapped her head back towards the road, determined not to get into a car crash.

As she’d noted to herself time and time again, there wasn’t much to do in town. They’d already done the drive-in for the week. Then again, she thought she’d be content to just drive around like this for a while, just the two of them. 

This time, confident that she’d got a good grip on the wheel, _she_ was the one that reached out and squeezed her brother’s hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

Jason opened his eyes ever so slightly and cocked his head to the side so as to look at his sister—God, she was so pretty—and he decided maybe he didn’t need to do his biology homework any time soon, after all.

Dilton Doiley probably _would_ do it for free, anyway.

He’d given it some thought the night before and made up his mind. To hell with his father. To hell with this peculiar little war with Hiram Lodge that Cliff seemed intent on starting up. To hell with the business. Jason wanted no part in it. He certainly wouldn’t let it rule his life like it had generations worth of this family. Of course, he couldn’t just up and tell his father that. Truthfully, he was afraid of him, especially now that he knew just what sort of tyrant his father really was. Still, in that moment, beneath the auspices of a sparkling midday sun with the scent of pine trees seeding the air and the person he loved best in the world beside him, he could not doubt he would find some way to break his father’s power over them and salvage a happy ending. It had to be so.

Cheryl eased the car around the bend just south of the Sweetwater River. Towering maple trees rose up on either side of the road. The vague, sickly sweet smell of sap tickled Jason’s nostrils. There really was no getting away from the stuff in this town. She slowed, turned the wheel, and directed them off of the main road, onto the little macadam lane that curved northwards through dense woods away from town.

He turned to face her. “And where are we going?”

She very smartly kept her eyes on the road, leaving him to admire her bright brown eyes, full lips, and fair skin stung red by the wind in profile. “Somewhere,” she teased.

He smiled again. As base and perhaps a little vulgar as it made him feel, he really, very much wanted to touch her. He placed a hand gently upon the soft, creamy skin of her thigh, left exposed by a wonderful little red skirt. It really _was_ her color. Cheryl said nothing, but pulled her legs a little closer together. Completing the last stretch of their journey, she took another turn, and Jason at last realized where they were. The little rise; a rocky, tree-covered hill ensconced in a bend of the river, where the Sweetwater bulged north away from town. It was a popular place for school kids to come and partake of illicit substances, or else partake of each other. But it was still early in the day. There was no one here. The Blossoms rolled to a stop at the crest of the hillock, watching the sun-dappled river babble gently some fifty feet below.

“So, why are we here?” He unhooked his seatbelt and shifted closer to her.

“Oh? You don’t know what kids come here to do?” Cheryl hooked her fingers into her brother’s collar and pulled him in for a soft, tender kiss. He leaned into it eagerly, brushing aside locks of her luscious red hair.

The kiss broke, and Jason found himself staring down into Cheryl’s dark, smoky eyes. Her lips glistened in the light of the sun. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. Jason felt an overwhelming upsurge of happiness, and thought to himself that this was _surely_ what it felt like to be in love. He was intensely, really satisfied. His heart felt full. There was no other word to describe it. Just an immense, powerful adoration for this wonderful, beautiful girl who had always been his closest companion and friend.

“I love you so, so much,” he breathed, feeling very much the romantic.

Cheryl leaned her head against his shoulder in response. He ran a hand through her ginger tresses, letting them run through his fingers, soft and silky.

“Go on,” she grinned.

Jason shrugged. “What else can I say?”

“Compliment me some more. You know I love it.”

“I know you do, you little narcissist.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “I’m a _justified_ narcissist,” Cheryl trilled. “Now, come on. Tell me exactly what it is that makes you love me so much. Don’t skimp on the details, either, dear brother.”

“You’re funny. You’re smart. _Really_ smart. I don’t think I would have ever passed ninth grade chemistry without you. So thank you for that. You’re tough, you know. You have to be to live with Mom and Dad.” He giggled, with a note of discomfort. “You’re… pretty,” he finished, feeling a little sheepish. All the more so when he saw the great smile on her face. “Oh, you were _waiting_ for that, huh?”

“Tell me more about how I’m the fairest in the land.” She dramatically pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You know what? No. You’ve gotten enough free compliments for the day. I’m going to spoil you.”

She punched him lightly in the chest, laughing. “Jackass. Mmm, no big deal though. I’ll just ask the magic mirror when we get home.”

Far below them, the sparkling river went on its lazy, peaceful course through the wooded hills and glens of Riverdale, winding on to the Hudson and the sea. The tree branches brushed gently against one another, their gentle rustling carrying on the breezy afternoon wind for miles. The songs of birds and the intermittent rustling of deer and their fellow wilderness creatures lent themselves to the symphony. The clouds, soft and white as tufts of cotton, swirled together in the sky, flying across the face of the sun and curling up at the horizons far away.

The Blossom twins huddled closer together in response to the pleasant chill rising up off of the river’s water.

It wasn’t perfect, but it really was quite close.

* * *

 

Betty and Veronica got to Pop’s about an hour after school ended. Veronica threw regular aside glances her date’s way. She felt a little bad about relishing Betty’s clear case of nerves, but she could hardly help it. It was painfully cute.

They took the booth two down from the door and ordered a hamburger and a milkshake each.

“So…” Betty tapped her fingers anxiously on the tabletop.

“Yes?” Veronica said with a smile.

“Nothing, I’ve just… never been on a _date_ -date before,” Betty managed.

“Well…” Veronica popped a fry into her mouth. “Have you ever been on a _not_ -date date?”

“Very funny,” Betty laughed. “No, I guess I haven’t been on _any_ kind of date before. Ever, actually.”

“Not for lack of options, I’m sure.”

Betty’s face turned a little red. “I—well, maybe. It—well, you know, just never happened. I don’t know. My mom has a tendency to scare away anyone who dares come near me. It makes friends hard enough, much less more than that.”

Veronica stirred her milkshake gently with her straw. “Do you think she’ll try to scare me away?”

Betty snorted. “You’re a rich, suave ex-socialite from New York City. The moment she meets you she’ll have a heart attack. At _best_.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to avoid meeting her. For the time being, at least. I’m sure I can win her over eventually. I consider myself a _master_ when it comes to wooing friends and family.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Betty sipped her milkshake. “Actually—not really. My mom’s… not really the type you win over.”

Veronica shrugged. The dark-haired beauty’s eyes were big and bright. “We’ll see.”

Betty shook her head, but couldn’t suppress a little smile. “I think I’ve got to ask—why’d you invite me out? I mean, why’d you ask me out _today_?”

“I like you. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Sure—I think. But… why? We don’t—well, you haven’t been here _too_ long, and you don’t know me _that_ well, yet.”

“I dunno. You’re sweet. Cute. And sure, I don’t know you _that_ well, yet, but I’m not the type to beat around the bush, so what better way to get to know you better?”

Betty’s mouth opened, then closed again. As if she were working up the courage to come out with her next few words. “You mean besides seven minutes in Cheryl Blossom’s closet?”

The straw fell from Veronica’s mouth. She stared in shock for a moment. Then she laughed.

“I was _kind of_ wondering if you’d bring that up. I will admit, that played a _slight_ role. I’m pretty sure everyone at school is already certain we did  something, so I figured, why not try out a real date?”

Betty laughed again “So I guess this is all ultimately Cheryl Blossom’s doing?”

“Ugh, when you put it like _that_ … but let’s not spend too much time dwelling on the ginger succubus. Cheer practice is bad enough without letting her haunt our dinner dates, too.”

“Believe me, you haven’t even seen her at her worst, yet.

“I’m looking forward to that.”

The two girls ate and talked longer than either had planned. The sun reached its apex in the sky, and then began its slow descent. The shadows grew long. When they finished, paid, stood, and thanked Pop Tate for their meal, dusk had descended over Riverdale. The last of the sunlight, red and orange, shone over the treetops in the distance. Leaves bowled along the street outside.

They stepped out into the evening. Betty rubbed her arms for warmth.

They walked side by side down the quickly darkening roadside, leaving the soft glow of Pop’s behind them. Veronica reached out and grabbed Betty’s hand.

“For warmth?” Betty asked.

Veronica wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “Uh… sure,” she said. “So do I have to take you home, now?”

Their shoes clicked on the sidewalk. It was silent out, and she couldn’t see anyone else on the street.

A car rolled by silently.

“Well…” Betty said. A little smile made its way onto her lips.

A second car crept up out of an alleyway along a side street. Veronica heard tires crunch on gravel. She ignored it. It wasn’t important, surely. And yet the car didn’t slip by them quickly as the last one had. It came up slowly, the headlights bathing them in a ghostly glow. She felt a shiver of fear, but decided it best not to betray any such thing to her date. It was a big car. Veronica couldn’t identify the make but it was heavy, stout, and formidable. Black. She saw Betty look towards the vehicle. Veronica quickened her step.

The car came up alongside them. The black windows glinted in the light of quiet homes and stores. Veronica felt her throat dry up. It kept pace with them for a few seconds, until finally the passenger’s door swung open. So to did the back right-hand door.

The men inside, clad in dark leather jackets, leered at the girls. Veronica began to wish she wasn’t wearing heels. She opened her mouth—whether to say something to the guys in the car or to Betty, she wasn’t sure.

“Hey, Veronica?” asked the man in the passenger’s seat.

She wasn’t stupid enough to answer that. She said nothing, walked faster, and dragged Betty along with her. If they could get maybe two more blocks, there’d be light, and people—

Then the man in the passenger’s seat drew a gun from his waist. He aimed it squarely at her gut.

Her blood chilled. She’d always expected something like this to happen. She was the daughter of a wealthy man with a lot of enemies. Yet she could never have prepared herself for the sheer terror of it.

“Veroni­—” Betty started. The poor girl’s voice trembled.

“Get in the car.” The man gestured with the gun.

A shred of advice someone had once given her stood out in Veronica’s mind: _Never go to the second location. If someone holds a gun to your head and tells you to come with them, it’s better to let them kill you then and there on the street than wait and see whatever it is they have in store for you once they’ve got you alone._

There was an alley just behind her. She grabbed Betty by the wrist. The man leaned forward. Veronica jumped backward and dragged Betty into the alley.

He fired the gun. Betty screamed. A bullet bounced off of a brick wall and the shot echoed.

Veronica took off running down the alley.

“God damn it!” one of the men shouted.

He fired the gun again. She felt something sting her upper arm. She ignored it and kept running, never loosening her grip on Betty’s wrist. The gun fired once more. The car tore off down the street.

They rounded a corner and didn’t stop running until they reached the center of town, with its wonderful, shining bright lights. There was a meager crowd drifting in and out of stores or lounging on streetside benches. Veronica almost broke down and cried at the sight of other people.

Betty _was_ crying. Veronica pulled her into a tight hug.

“I—I—we just—I—” She began to hyperventilate.

“Hey! Hey! We’re okay! We’re okay! It’s fine.”

People stopped to stare at the two girls clinging to each other in the middle of the sidewalk, faces dripping with perspiration. Veronica held her friend until her breathing slows. “We’re fine. We’re fine,” Veronica repeated.

Betty’s sharp breaths settled into a regular rhythm. Then she darted forward and kissed Veronica on the lips.

* * *

 

Hiram Lodge was apoplectic. After the initial horror had passed, he’d sunken into sheer, overwhelming rage. Veronica, _his Veronica_ , had been _shot_. Sure, it was a superficial wound that had only just barely grazed the skin and not required so much as a few stitches, but that was not the issue.

He’d allowed Sheriff Keller to grill her for a half hour, but she could only say that the men who had attacked her and the Cooper girl wore leather jackets. For the Sheriff, that meant a toss up between the Ghoulies and the Serpents. Keller figured what everyone else in town figured: some Southside trash had gotten word that a rich New Yorker with a bratty daughter had moved into town, and decided to try their luck at a extorting a ransom. Of course, the incident was the talk of Riverdale now, but few saw anything deeper in it than a foolish gamble by some idiot lowlifes.

Hiram knew better, of course. But it was just well enough Keller either didn’t or didn’t care to look any further into it. He didn’t need the police complicating things. He knew precisely who was to blame for this, and thus precisely who needed to be destroyed in his retaliation.

Cliff Blossom was far, far out of his depth. And Hiram Lodge was going to drown him.

* * *

 

Veronica rolled her eyes and lifted her sleeve. Kevin Keller proceeded to ogle the strip of angry flesh where the bullet had grazed her, just visible in the dim light of the school lounge.

“Woah. That’s so badass.” He peered a little closer. “So you’ve survived a gunfight, now, huh?”

Betty slapped him gently on the shoulder. “Kev, knock it off.”

“I’m sorry, sorry. I’m _mortified_ that this happened to you, obviously, but…”

“He’s got a point,” Veronica conceded. “I mean—forgive me, I haven’t been here long—but this doesn’t strike me as the most interesting place in the world. Am I wrong in suggesting this may very well be the most intriguing thing to happen in quite a while?”

Jughead Jones, nose buried in a yellowing copy of _Helter Skelter_ , deigned to look up. “Spot on, Veronica.” He returned to his book.

Archie straightened up. “Everyone knows the Serpents were bad news, but I never thought they’d do something like—”

“Serpents don’t do stuff like this,” Jughead snapped.

“Well, I—”

“He’s right,” Betty said. “Petty crime, drugs, that’s usually their MO, isn’t it? Not this.”

“Okay.” Archie put up his hands. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you’re both okay.”

Veronica slid closer to Betty. “Well, _I’m_ glad Betty was there with me.” She gave the blonde a quick kiss. “If it had been just me… the night might have had a less-than-happy ending.” Veronica spoke cheerily, but nevertheless there was a brief, uncomfortable silence.

There was a rustling. The door swung open, and Cheryl Blossom waltzed into the room. She sauntered over to the vending machine, making a show out of pretending not to notice the little group. The five friends starred after her, hoping she’d leave without incident. Then Cheryl whirled around and trained her gaze on Veronica.

“What are _you_ looking at, Patty Hearst?”

Veronica prepared to respond, but Jughead beat her to it. “Careful, Cheryl, or you just might be next.”

The redhead stared for a moment, then rolled her eyes and stalked off.

“Why is she always such a bitch?” Veronica asked.

A collective shrug.

“Why are we what we are?” Jughead muttered.

Betty tugged on Veronica’s shirt. “How’s your dad taking all of this?”

Veronica laughed. “He’s furious. Of course. If he ever finds the louts responsible he’ll try to have them hanged in town hall.”

And with the way she said it, no one doubted for a moment it was the truth.


	7. Chapter 7

“Oh, she probably spun it out of whole cloth,” Penelope Blossom said. Her fork speared a slice of apple and she slid it into her mouth.

“Probably,” Cliff agreed. “You remember what Hiram and Hermione were like back in the day.”

Their children listened quietly.

Cheryl had always despised family breakfasts. Each morning she secretly hoped her father would have some engagement that would preclude him from joining them at the table, or that her mother would sleep through noon.

They were out of luck today.

“When I found out the Lodges were coming back to town…” Penelope didn’t finish the sentence, as if it was too horrible to say. She just coughed in disgust and shook her head. “This is exactly the sort of trouble I was sure they’d stir up.”

Jason picked silently at a slice of ham.

“Mmm,” Cliff mumbled.

Cheryl watched her father closely. He seemed agitated lately. He seemed less collected less certain. Something was up.

“It wasn’t exactly her fault what happened,” Cheryl said, and immediately regretted opening her mouth.

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Oh, of _course_ not,” she said, fixing her daughter with a withering stare. “But if the girl had any sense in her head, maybe she wouldn’t have been wandering around at night unescorted.” She paused. “Then again, she _is_ Hermione Lodge’s daughter.”

Cheryl felt, much to her own surprise, the urge to defend Veronica Lodge. Maybe it was more the urge to antagonize her mother—it was hard to tell. “She _wasn’t_ alone.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Cliff said, a hint of sarcasm in his otherwise serious voice. “She was with the Cooper girl, wasn’t she?”

Penelope laughed a short, sharp laugh. “All the worse. _Two_ girls out so late and so close to the Southside… I really don’t know what they were expecting.” She sipped her drink.

“Probably not a kidnapping attempt.”

Jason sniggered.

Penelope continued. “I’m not sure why you feel the need to defend the girl so vehemently. It wasn’t _you_ that was nearly—allegedly—abducted.”

“It could have been.” Cheryl took a slow, tentative bite of her meal.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Penelope said. She smiled wryly. “What would anyone have to gain from that?”

Cheryl's face burned in indignation at the not-so-subtle insult. That was just like her mother, of course. She should have been used to it by now. But it never ceased to sting.

Jason reached out for her hand under the table. But she was angry now, and she clenched a fist and refused to take it. Nonplussed, he withdrew.

“I don’t know, ransom money?” Cheryl asked, voice clipped and even.

“Ransom money,” Penelope scoffed. “How much do you think you’re worth, exactly, Cheryl?” She shook her head.

Cheryl didn’t answer, focused on keeping down the boiling anger in her belly.

Penelope shook her head. “I can’t say I really care what becomes of the Lodges. I really don’t know why we’re talking about this.”

“Neither do I,” Jason said, breaking his long-standing silence. He shot his sister a look that said:  _restrain yourself_.

“Ask your sister, _she_ brought it up,” Cliff said, voice tinged with impatience.

“Of course she did,” Penelope said “You do like your drama, don’t you Cheryl?”

Cheryl’s face turned a little bit red. She tried to suppress a trembling lip, and failed miserably.

Jason returned his eyes to his plate, but he didn't eat anymore.

“Your mother’s right,” Cliff said. “It really isn’t any of our business.”

“Especially not yours,” Penelope added on. Cheryl felt her mother’s eyes pricking at her skin. She felt like she was being probed by needles.

“In all likelihood you’re right, love,” Cliff said. “I’d bet she did make the whole thing up.”

Penelope pointed her fork at Cheryl. She smiled again; that serpentine, self-satisfied smile that came so naturally to her. “Now don’t go getting any ideas, Cheryl.”

A silence fell over the breakfast table at last. No one finished their plate.

Jason sighed. Penelope’s thin, cruel smile persisted.

Breakfast concluded soon after. Cheryl was the first to finish, standing without a word, depositing her plate into the sink, and storming out of the dining room.

Cliff left the house soon after. Penelope retreated into the master bedroom. Jason was the last to finish up. He checked the time. It was almost 8:00. He doubted Cheryl was getting ready. They were going to be late for school.

He threw away his scraps and then headed upstairs to find his sister.

Cheryl slammed her bedroom door shut behind her and collapsed onto her bed. She fought to hold back the hot, angry tears pooling in her eyes. It wasn’t _hurt_ so much as _anger a_ nd confusion. Penelope never missed an opportunity to scorn her daughter, but this was worse than usual. She’d hardly said a word to incur her mother’s wrath. Or her father’s tranquil anger, for that matter. What was _up_ with them?

She buried her face in a pillow, swearing quietly.

Someone knocked lightly on the door.

“ _What?_ ”

“Cher?”

Cheryl softened a little bit at the sound of her brother’s voice. Still, she wasn’t keen for anyone to see her right now.

“Jason?”

“Can I come in?”

She was silent for a long while. She heard Jason shift his weight from foot to foot outside her door.

Finally he gathered his courage and stepped inside. She sat up on her bed, trying to compose herself. He came over and sat down beside her, reaching out to cover her hand with his. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_.”

“No you’re not.”

“No. I'm not. Why the hell did you ask then?” she snapped.

“Because—I don’t know—it’s polite. I’m sorry.” He enveloped her in a tight, comforting hug.

Cheryl pressed her face into his shoulder, tears streaming silently down her cheeks and soaking through the thin fabric. “Why is Mom always such a _bitch_ to me?”

Jason sighed. “I don’t know, baby. Just—”

“Are you going to tell me to just ignore her? Because that’s a lot easier said than done.”

“You know they’ve always been like th—”

“Yeah. They _have_ always been like that. For seventeen years. Like I _did_ something. Like I—” Her throat closed up and her voice trailed off.

Jason kissed his sister gently on the tip of the nose, like he used to do when they were little kids. Cheryl felt her face heat up.

“They can burn in hell. The both of them. _I_ love you, okay? More than anything.”

She looked up at him, big brown eyes wet with tears. “If only that were enough.”

“It’s not?” he asked, teasingly.

Cheryl shrugged. “I still have to live with them. _We_ do.”

Jason thought about that for a moment. “We’ll be eighteen soon. Then we can—”

Cheryl smiled. “What? Skip town and live happily ever after?”

“Maybe,” Jason said. “Don’t be a pessimist, Cher.”

“Let’s say we even  _make_ it to that magical age of independence alive. And let’s say we somehow manage to get out of this hellhole. Where would we go?”

Jason brought a hand to her cheek, tracing circles over her fair skin with his thumb. “I don’t know. Where would you _like_ to go? If we could go anywhere, just the two of us?”

“What does it matter?”

“It _does_ matter. Come on. Just pretend for a minute.”

Cheryl scoffed, but she acceded. She tried to suppress her cynicism. She tried to imagine something else for them, tried to imagine _somewhere_ else. Somewhere far away from here and far away from their parents. Somewhere she could dare to imagine herself happy.

“How about a place on the beach?” Cheryl suggested finally.

Jason smiled and squeezed her hand. “There you go. Tell me what beach.”

She closed her eyes again and allowed herself to slip back into the dream. She saw white, sloping sand dunes. Sparkling surf lit up in reds and yellows and purples by the setting sun. A gentle breeze blowing over the strand and bending the sea grasses in its wake. She inhaled the scent of marine salt.

“How about Cape Cod?”

“Okay,” Jason said. “Cape Cod. Like two summers ago. What does it look like?”

Cheryl laughed, a little embarrassed to find herself enjoying the absurd little fantasy. “There’s a house. Two stories.”

“Smaller than Thornhill?”

“Yeah. But better. Nicer. More… personal.”

“Right. Balcony facing the sea?”

“God, that’s sickeningly cliché.” She smiled. “But… yes.”

Jason hooked his arms around her waist and pulled her back onto the bed, so she was lying atop him. Cheryl felt his chest rise and fall as he breathed. She closed her eyes again and allowed herself to return the little beach on Cape Cod.

“Tell me about the beach,” Jason said.

“The sand is perfectly white. It practically glows in the mornings, and you can see for miles over the water. When the tide’s right, a breeze comes in from the ocean over the veranda.”

“Do you go swimming a lot?”

“ _We_ go swimming a lot,” she clarified. “And rowing, of course. The water’s calm enough for that, usually.” Cheryl fell silent for a moment, enjoying her brother’s comforting presence and the brittle little fantasy they’d concocted. “Oh, and the best part about the beach?”

“Yeah?”

“The big ‘Private Property: Keep Out’ sign.”

They laughed together. Cheryl opened her eyes.

“Look,” Jason said, “I can’t promise you a two-story house on Cape Cod with a private beach. But I can promise that this isn’t forever.”

Cheryl kissed him softly on the lips. “You should get out of here before Dad finds you in my room again and has a fit.”

“Hey, why don’t we take the boat out later?”

“What?”

“You mentioned rowing. It’s been a while since we went out on the river. After school?”

“A date?” she teased.

He kissed her again. “Yeah. Call it a date. Now come on. We’ve already missed first period, maybe we can get there by lunch if we hurry.”

* * *

“He wasn’t exactly clear, huh, Sweet Pea?”

The dark-haired, leather jacket-clad young man named Sweet Pea leaned back against the wall. He fished in his pocket for a cigarette, and found that he was empty.

“Clear about what?” Sweet Pea asked.

“About what he wanted us to do,” replied his companion, a dark-skinned boy about a foot shorter, with a handsome, brutal face. He too wore a crinkled leather jacket stamped with the image of a hissing, double-headed serpent.

“Rich assholes are never clear.”

“So then why are we here?” the shorter guy asked.

Sweet Pea pointed across the street, to Riverdale’s only hardware and sporting goods store. “Cliff Blossom’s kids are in there.”

“So?” asked the shorter Serpent.

“So, Fangs, Mr. Lodge said he wanted something that would help him bring Mr. Blossom down.”

“And that’s got fuck all to do with his creepy kids?” Fangs scratched his chin. “Like I said, he wasn’t exactly clear.”

“Well, I’m just saying maybe we should follow them around a little bit, watch them, and see if we see anything interesting. That’s all. Do you have somewhere else to be?” Sweet Pea asked, irritated.

“‘Interesting’ like what?” Fangs looked up at his tall companion.

“Like, I don’t know. Maybe Jason Blossom likes to shoot up heroin or something. Something that’ll embarrass the hell out of the Blossoms.”

Fangs shrugged and sighed. “Whatever, man.”

“Look, Lodge is gonna pay us a lot of money,” Sweet Pea snapped. “I think you can shut the hell up and help me watch the Blossom twins for a day.”

The doors to the store across the street swung open, and the objects of their stakeouts emerged.

Cheryl emerged first, holding a bag in one hand and keeping the door open for her brother, who came out toting two bags. He almost dropped one. She laughed and helped pick him up. They walked down the sidewalk, towards their parked convertible.

“God, those two give me the creeps,” Fangs said.

“At least Cheryl’s hot,” Sweet Pea offered.

Fangs laughed. “She’d probably bite your dick off. Thank God I’m gay. ”

The twins piled into the car.

The two young serpents followed behind at a safe distance.

Jason turned east and towards the Sweetwater River. The car moved with some effort over the macadam road, the rowboat strapped to the back bouncing gently. He could already smell the fresh, liquid scent of the river from here, mingling with the fresh pine.

He’d been thinking since morning. His suspicions, of course, went further back than that. But breakfast today had strengthened them tenfold.

Veronica Lodge’s near abduction—where the rest of Riverdale saw the actions of a few opportunistic thugs, he saw a hidden hand at work. And he was increasingly sure whose hidden hand it was. He remembered Cliff’s explosive ‘conference’ with Hiram a few days before. It had ended with his father swearing he would teach the Lodge family a lesson in respect. What better way to to 'teach respect' to Hiram than to hold his only daughter hostage?

He didn’t _want_ to believe it, of course—not because he had any illusions left that his father was a good man, but for the selfish reason that he didn’t want to _deal_ with this right now. Because if it was true, then his father was becoming bolder and that Jason, as one of the few people privy to Cliff’s dealings would have to either do something about it _now_ or accept complicity.

But Jason couldn’t dwell on all that right now. He was going on a boat ride with Cheryl and he had to make her feel better. He couldn’t do that if he was brooding over an imminent collision with their father.

Jason parked the car in the forested little lot at the riverbank. He stepped out and opened Cheryl’s door for her with a flourish. She rolled her eyes, but had a little smile. He took her by the hand and helped her out. She looked almost like a bride in her glowing white dress. 

A sheet of cold green water splashed up as they launched the boat. Jason threw the oars over the gunwale and stepped gingerly inside. The little vessel rocked gently in the river’s torrid current. He reached out a hand and helped Cheryl into the boat after him. It was windy enough that the Sweetwater was choppy, the little white-capped waves lapping against the sides of the canoe.

They pushed off from the dock. A gust of breeze hit them. Cheryl, ever theatrical, wrapped herself tighter in her shawl.

“At least you didn’t bring your parasol,” Jason joked. He dipped the oars into the river and propelled them into deeper water.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Upon reaching a point of equidistance from each bank of the river, he released the oars, letting them hang in the locks. The boat lifted on a powerful upsurge of water, jolting both its occupants. Cheryl instinctively reached out and grabbed her brother’s wrist. In a moment, the boat steadied and she felt silly.

“Did you think I was going to fall over?” he teased.

“No,” she lied.

“No one drowns in the Sweetwater River, Cheryl,” he laughed. He let one hand hang over the edge of the boat and dip into the current. The water was chilly but good.

“You never know,” Cheryl cautioned. “Stranger things have happened.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Cheryl paused for a moment, wondering if she ought to bring it up. “Veronica Lodge coming this close to reliving the plot of _Taken_.”

Jason groaned. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“Why?”

Cheryl shrugged. “I don’t know.” Again, and very rarely for her, she considered her next words carefully. “Did Mom and Dad seem testy at breakfast today? More than usual, I mean.”

“No,” he replied, a little quickly. Cheryl watched him. He looked away from her, towards the trees. “Not more than usual, anyway. They’re always like that.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you really want to talk about Cliff and Penelope right now? _Or_ Veronica?”

Cheryl pursed her painted lips. Jason stared at her from his seat at the prow of the boat. The breeze tousled his red hair in a way she found quite cute. He smiled. He looked so handsome when he smiled.

“No, I guess not.”

She liked watching him row. The way his face reddened a little with exertion. The way it made his arms and chest press against his shirt. Cheryl felt triumphant—triumphant enough to suppress her thoughts of Veronica and her parents and other such things. 

* * *

“This is boring.” Fangs Fogarty sat back on a toppled log. He messed around with his cell phone.

“It’s not supposed to be fun,” Sweet Pea shot back.

“Is this _really_ what Lodge had in mind when he said he’d pay us good money for dirt on Cliff Blossom? Following his weird kids around on their rowboat date?”

“Well I’d follow the old man himself, but he hardly ever leaves his castle.” Sweet Pea scratched his chin and peered out through the screen of trees. “Do you want Mustang or one of those other assholes to get something good before we do?”

Fangs shrugged and mumbled something.

Sweet Pea shook his head. They stood in a little half-moon shaped clearing a few yards back from the riverbank. Through the gaps in the towering oaks and maples he could see the little rowboat rising and falling on the water and the handsome pair of ginger twins therein.

Hiram Lodge had gotten into contact with the Serpents a few days before. He was angry about something. He'd gotten into some sort of turf war he’d gotten into with Cliff Blossom. Rumor was that it was Blossom that had tried to have Veronica snatched. Sweet Pea didn’t know and he didn’t really care. Either way, Lodge was determined to strike a winning blow against his rival. He’d offered the Serpents exorbitant amounts of money if they could provide him with some incontrovertible evidence of Cliff’s less-than-legal enterprises. They all knew, of course, but hard proof would be hard to come by. Trying to sneak onto Blossom property seemed like a good way to get shot. So Sweet Pea had suggested to his friend that they follow around the Blossom kids for a few hours and hope they got something out of it. It was worth a shot, right?

Fangs stood and began to pace. Sweet Pea gritted his teeth. His friend’s impatience was beginning to grate on him.

He tried to focus on his quarry. From here, he couldn’t hear anything Cheryl or Jason said, much to his chagrin. Of course, moving any closer would mean breaking the cover of the trees. Cheryl leaned in and said something. Jason laughed. Sweet Pea checked the time.

They’d done nothing mildly illicit yet. They’d creeped him out, with their synchronized, color coded outfits and refusal to keep their hands off one another, but that wasn't  _illegal_.

Jason splashed his sister lightly with a handful of river water, and she responded by stripping off her shawl and whacking him over the head with it.

Fangs began to pick at the bark of an old sycamore tree.

“Do you wanna go now?”

“Do you wanna shut up now?” Sweet Pea snapped.

Except maybe his friend was right. They weren’t getting much out of this. Maybe they _should_ try to sneak onto Thornhill’s grounds and see if they could dig up anything there. Maybe this whole thing was stupid.

But Lodge had promised a couple thousands of dollars in exchange for something good. And that was _not_ stupid.

* * *

“Getting tired, yet?” Cheryl reached out and touched her brother’s arm.

Jason smiled sheepishly. “A little.”

“Well, when your poor muscles are pushed to their breaking point, why don’t we make port and take a little rest?” she cooed.

That wasn’t a bad idea. He rowed for another few minutes, and then stopped. Cheryl decided he must have reached his breaking point. Or, more likely, he was curious to see what a ‘rest’ entailed, exactly. She wasn’t quite sure, either, but she did know she wanted to put her hands on him. Now.

He dipped the oars back into the water, switched the boat’s course, and shortly brought them into two feet of water, and then right up onto the shore. They drew the craft up onto the riverbank, laughing when Jason lost his footing in the loose soil and fell down in the dirt.

“Help me up?” Jason reached up a hand to his sister. When she took it, he yanked her down onto the ground alongside him instead. She cried out in shock, and then again in dismay as the hem of her pristine white dress was soiled by grass and dirt.

“You _son of a bitch!”_ she cried, and punched him in the chest a little too hard to be playful but not hard enough to be malicious either. “This dress is—”

He tangled a hand in her red hair and promptly kissed her. His lips, hot, soft against hers, ignited that wonderful tingling in the base of her stomach. He rubbed the small of her back in slow, gentle circles, like he liked to do.

Jason broke the kiss and said, “You know, you’re so pretty when you’re mad.”

Cheryl grabbed a handful of her muddied dress and lifted it to show him. “I should kill you for this,” she joked. 

“Don’t worry about the dress.”

She kissed him.

* * *

Sweet Pea grinned.

“Psst. Hey! Fangs! Come here!”

His friend reluctantly stood and sauntered over to him. Through the thin screen of trees, Sweet Pea had watched the Blossom twins quit the water and come ashore again. Now, much to the young Serpent’s bemusement, if not great surprise, they were rolling about in the grass like lovers in a bad movie and enjoying decidedly non-fraternal kisses.

“What the f—” Fangs exclaimed.

“Shhh!” Sweet Pea hushed him. ”Give me your phone.”

Fangs dutifully handed it over. Sweet Pea pulled up the camera, making certain to silence the little shutter effect. He lifted the phone, took aim, waited for Cheryl Blossom to take her brother’s mouth in a hungry, eager kiss, and took the photo. He snapped three more quickly after.

Satisfied, the two boys retreated. It wasn’t exactly what Lodge had had in mind—it wasn’t proof of involvement in narcotics or anything else illegal. But it _was_ damning. It was proof. And it was pay dirt.

* * *

The amorous pair realized none of this.

Cheryl was too concerned with Jason’s shirt, which she was quickly doing away with. She methodically undid the clean white button-down, yanking it open and planting her svelte hands on her brother’s chest. Running her fingers over his firm, toned stomach, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his throat. Cheryl left a line of kisses up his neck and his jaw line, and then took his ear lobe between her teeth, nibbling it gently.

Jason grabbed handfuls of her muddy dress and hiked it up around her waist. He dug his fingers into the creamy flesh of his sister’s long, toned legs. She squealed in delight. She could feel his own heart beating just as fast against her. A wet, electrifying sensation pooled in her stomach and spread down, through her hips and waist and between her legs. Jason hooked his fingers into the band of her underwear. Her breath in his ear came in quick, shallow pants.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Cheryl managed, voice trembling.

With her free hand not stroking his chest and stomach, she undid his belt, sliding it free from its loops and tossing it into the grass. She helped him push her panties down her legs, where she eagerly kicked them away.

Jason raked his teeth along her collarbone and she trembled in ecstasy. He moved a hand to her inner thigh, and gently pushed her legs apart.

“You want to do this?” she gasped.

“God, yes.” He paused for a moment, holding Cheryl in his arms and staring into her bright eyes. “Do you?”

She shook, but nodded, face hot and red. “Yes.”

“Have you ever… before, I mean?”

“No. No, but I want to. Now. Come on.”

That was enough for her. He kissed her again, and they knew each other.


	8. Chapter 8

Someone slammed a locker door shut. The metallic clash pushed a shockwave of terror through Veronica's body. It _wasn’t_ a gunshot but it sure sounded like it. She shook it off, but she trembled all the way to pre-calculus.

She met Betty halfway there, as she usually did.

“Hey.” Betty leaned down and Veronica gave her a quick kiss. She considered holding hands, but that seemed a little much.

“Hey,” Veronica replied. Her voice got caught up in her throat. She cursed.

Betty frowned. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah—no, I’m fine.”

Betty didn't look convinced. Veronica sighed.

“Okay, no, I’m not fine. Not totally. Sorry. I’m just a little shaken up still about the…”

“The thing?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “We don’t have to call it ‘the thing,’ B. Let’s be upfront about our nearly becoming missing person statistics.”

Betty smiled bitterly. She put an arm around Veronica’s shoulders. “Come on. We can skip out on class if you want. We’ve got a few more absences before we have got to make up time."

Now Veronica smiled. “Skipping class without a legitimate, school-sanctioned reason? Now that’s not the Betty Cooper _I_ know,” she teased.

Betty shrugged. “New and improved. Come on, if my girl’s not feeling well, that’s more important than pre-calc.”

Veronica acquiesced. Holding hands, they headed in the opposite direction from their next class. A few minutes later, the bell rang. They ignored it. The halls quickly emptied of students, except for those enjoying a free period. Betty and Veronica made their way to the school lounge.

As they turned a corner in the hall, they ran smack into another pair of shirkers. The Blossom twins stood in their path, having  just emerged from a darkened art room. Cheryl gently closed the door behind them. It clicked shut.

A silence filled the hall. The twins looked very uncomfortable, as if they’d just been caught breaking some rule.

“Hey,” Betty finally said. Veronica watched them, eyes full of suspicion. 

Jason waved. Cheryl scowled. “Hey,” she replied at last. Her hair was a little mussed up. She tried to straighten it out subtly and failed.

“What are you uh— what’s going on?” Veronica asked. She was genuinely a bit curious.

“Nothing. What are _you_ doing?” sputtered an uncharacteristically witless Cheryl Blossom.

“I—we—we’re going to the lounge. Bye.” Veronica grabbed Betty around the wrist and pulled her down the hall towards the lounge. She felt the ghostly presence of the Blossoms at her back.

Sinking into chairs next to the vending machines, Veronica exhaled. “What was _that_?”

“I—I don’t know, V. They’re _so_ weird. They’ve _always_ been really weird. In second grade they were literally incapable of comprehending that not everyone could afford to take a Caribbean cruise every Christmas.”

“Okay, but what were they doing in the empty art room?”

“I don’t know. I try not to think about them most of the time, really.”

“God, I hate it here,” Veronica said. “‘It’ll be idyllic. Peaceful,’ my dad says. Barely a few weeks here and I almost get _kidnapped_ , and all the small town weirdos—eh, no offense.”

Betty smiled. Her eyes were so blue and _bright_. “None taken. Riverdale can get a little crazy.”

Veronica reached out and squeezed her girlfriend’s hand. “You help balance it out, though.”

Betty blushed a little. Veronica always liked that she could cause that sort of reaction. She prided herself on it, in fact.

“Thanks, Ronnie.”

Veronica leaned in, as if she was going to tell a secret. “I just want to say I’m really glad you were there with me that night. It’s just...” She scrunched up her face, as if in disgust. “If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know. I feel like I might have just frozen and then… well, you know.”

Betty shrugged and smiled that sweet, all-American smile of hers. “Well, _I_ did freeze. You were the one with enough sense to turn around and run. So… I know it sounds cheesy, but maybe it’s lucky we were _both_ there.”

Veronica kissed her. It had become clear to Veronica fairly quickly that the girl didn’t have much experience. That was a great waste, of course, considering how fantastically soft her lips were. Betty leaned in, her lips flatly crushing against her girlfriend's.

Veronica finally broke the kiss, smiled, and said, “I think you still need a little practice.”

She blushed again. “I’m a fast learner.”

“So I was thinking… since you need practice and you’re such a fast learner… do you wanna come over and spend the night this weekend? At the Pembrooke? I kinda don’t like sleeping alone so much lately.”

“Oh! I mean… your parents won’t mind?”

“Nah, they won’t care. They’ll probably just be happy I’m not dating another Sicilian sculptor. Funny story, by the way, remind me to tell you, later.”

“My mom...”

Veronica smiled mischievously. “Hey, as far as she knows we’re just good pals, right?”

“Well, she doesn’t like to let me out of her sight too much. Especially not after the other night. But…”

“Just work on her a little.”

“I’ll try.”

Veronica thought for a moment. “I can invite some other people, maybe, if that would sway her at all.”

“Maybe. Like I said, I’ll try. A sleepover does sound fun. I haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Well, you’re never too old for a good old fashioned sleepover, right?”

Betty smiled, only a little less mischievously than her girlfriend had. “No, I guess you’re not.”

* * *

 

Hiram Lodge groaned and rubbed his eyes. He checked the time. It was almost 3:30, which meant Veronica should be out of school soon. He felt his stomach churn. Ever since the incident, his primal concern for his girl’s safety had intensified ten-fold. Smithers should be on his way to pick her up already. Hiram made sure that Smithers arrived at Riverdale High a good half hour before the final bell rang, to account for traffic or any other sources of delay, so that his daughter wouldn’t have to spend so much as a second waiting alone outside the school.

He was still furious, and his fury showed no signs of abating. That slimy bastard Cliff had _dared_ try to get to him through Veronica. He was going to suffer for it. He’d gone and called on the services of the Southside Serpents again (since the Ghoulies seemed entirely on the Blossom side now). Hiram had offered the gangsters a pretty penny in exchange for anything incriminating they could bring him on the Blossom family. He knew it existed, of course. If he could get someone onto Thornhill’s grounds, he was sure the place would be dripping with evidence of Cliff’s extra-legal activities. He’d done business with Cliff before, but that was always indirectly, through a web of proxies and plausible deniability. He had nothing concrete on the man, and vice versa as well. But once he had something, then his rival would become a cipher in the business. He’d let the Blossom patriarch know he had it in his power to destroy him, and he expected him to become much more accommodating from then on.

Hiram flipped open his laptop. A few email notifications popped up immediately. Opening his inbox, he found a few bits of good news. There was a confirmation that some real estate he’d bought in Connecticut was now fully his to dispose of as he saw fit. There was an assurance one of his shipments had arrived safely in a Guatemalan port.

The newest email in his inbox threw him for a moment, because he didn’t recognize the address. Then Hiram realized it was the throwaway account he’d asked any of the Serpents to contact him through, if they had something for him. His hopes were raised. He clicked it open.

_Mr. Lodge; I don’t think this is precisely what you had in mind, but hopefully it’ll be worth something to you. If it is, it’s worth something to me. Worth $20,000, if your word is good?_

Attached were a few photographs apparently taken with a smartphone. Hiram opened the first one. He narrowed his eyes. He scratched his chin and ran his tongue over his teeth. This _was_ interesting. And his contact was right: it certainly _wasn’t_ what he’d had in mind. Perhaps it was better. He began to scheme. 

Then his study door opened. Veronica poked her head inside, wearing the special smile set aside for bargaining with parents.

“Hey, Daddy.”

“Hi, _mija_.” He hadn’t even noticed her come home. “How was school?”

“Oh, it was fine.”

“Good, good. _Mija_ , I’m a bit bu—”

“I had a question, actually…” she said sheepishly.

“What is it?”

“I was wondering if I could have Betty over this weekend? To spend the night?”

He was going to simply say ‘yes’. He didn’t mind that his daughter was dating. Betty Cooper was a nice girl, even if her mother was a bit of a fruitcake. He hardly expected Alice Cooper to allow _her_ daughter to sleep out, anyway. But as he opened his mouth to answer, he had a flashing idea. Things were falling into place perfectly.

“Sure, _mija_. In fact, you can invite as many of your friends as you like. They just finished that expansion in the guest rooms, so there’s plenty of space.”

“Oh… well, who else?” Veronica asked.

“Well… you’re friends with the McCoy girl, aren’t you? Some of your friends from the cheer squad. Cheryl, maybe?”

Veronica snorted. “Cheryl is hardly my _friend_ , Daddy.”

He feigned surprise. Hiram knew that his daughter and the Blossom girl hardly got along. “Oh? Didn’t she introduce you to Betty?”

“If by ‘introduce’ you mean ‘lock in a closet,’ then yes. She was our infernal Cupid.”

Hiram smiled. “Sounds like it’s worth one sleepover invite.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but she smiled, too. “Thanks, Daddy.”

She stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Hiram leaned back in his chair again, closed his eyes, and allowed the sense of satisfaction to wash over him.

* * *

 

Cheryl was in a good mood yet again. Her and Jason’s boat ride yesterday… well, it had been a hell of a boat ride. She was still riding on the high. She felt warm and adored and completed. It had stripped away what felt like layers of insecurity and stored up pain.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t immediately greet Veronica’s suggestion with scorn that morning, when she caught her heading into Riverdale High.

“Hey, Cheryl.”

“Miss Hearst.”

Veronica ignored the jab. “Hey, lay down your arms. I come in peace. I just wanted to invite you to a sleepover at the Pembrooke this weekend.”

Chery snorted. “What are we, twelve?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Come on, you can toss barbs my way all night, we can drink…”

“Ugh. Drink some fetid off-brand swill, no doubt.”

“Spanish wine, actually, but good guess.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes high and white. She must have really strong ocular muscles at this point.

“Look,” Veronica went on, “full disclosure; I invited Betty, but we didn’t think her mom would say yes unless there were other people. So… I’m inviting you and a few other girls.”

Cheryl grinned at that. Perhaps it was the desire to tease Betty and Veronica for an entire night, or perhaps it was—considering her present mood—a fit of genuine romantic sentiment that dictated her next words.

“Aww… well isn’t that _sweet_.”

“Not _now_ , Cheryl.”

“Hmm. Alright, Rita Mae Brown. Count me in.” She turned around and began to walk away, but looked over her shoulder for one more comment. “That Spanish wine better be worth my time, Lodge.”

“It’ll knock you on your pretty little ass, Cheryl Blossom.”

Cheryl shook her head and began her walk to first period. Maybe Veronica Lodge wasn’t really so bad.

* * *

 

Jason paced in his room. He was struggling to work up the courage to do what he needed to. He could hear his father rustling around downstairs. They were the only two in the house. Cheryl was at cheer practice, his mother in town attending to something or other. His sister’s thoughts on Veronica and their parents’ reluctance to discuss her had been eating at him since the afternoon on the river. The bliss they’d enjoyed together that afternoon had _nearly_ been enough to wipe the memory of anything else from his mind, but not _totally_. He kept thinking of Veronica, and his father, and his father’s violent confrontation with Hiram Lodge a few weeks back. 

He descended the grand staircase, stomach burning with anticipation. Coming into the foyer, he ran into his father coming out of the kitchen. Jason's palms were clammy and hot. His mouth was dry. He swallowed deeply.

“Dad?” he somehow managed to say.

“What is it, Jason?” his father asked. He looked a little tired and irritable.

Jason pulled himself to his full height. “I’m going to ask you a question. Man to man.”

“What?” Cliff’s eyes were shadowed by dark circles. His face was pale, more so than usual. The man looked exhausted. Maybe, Jason thought, that meant he’d put up less of a fight.

Jason drew another deep breath. He’d just come right out with it, then. “Did you have anything to do with what happened to Veronica Lodge?”

Cliff said nothing. Then he shook his head. Then he scoffed. “You’re asking me if I hired men to kidnap Hiram’s daughter?”

It almost sounded silly when put like that. But Jason wasn’t going to allow his father to weasel out of the question.

“Yes.”

Jason almost expected him to explode and scream at him. At least raise his voice, but he didn’t. He spoke softly, weary.

“You think I w—”

“I know the sorts things you’ve done,” Jason said.

Cliff chuckled humorlessly. “I guess you do.” There was a long silence. “No, Jason. I had nothing to do with what happened to Veronica.”

Jason didn’t believe him. He could read the lie on his father’s lips. _Of_ course he had something to do with it. Even Cheryl was suspicious, and she didn’t know half of what Jason did about their family’s skeleton-filled closets. He had long since lived in terror of his father, but he had also maintained a healthy respect. It was falling away quick.

He wanted to press the question. He wanted to back him into a corner and _make_ him admit. But he knew it would be no use. Cliff was iron.

“Okay,” Jason said, instead.

He nodded and turned away. He walked quickly, eager to be out of this man’s presence.

“Actually!”

Jason stopped in mid step. His father’s voice was suddenly free of its tinny, weary quality. It was sharp and loud and commanding again.

Jason turned around, almost trembling. Cliff took a few steps towards him. He seemed reinvigorated. “I’ve got a question for you, too, Jason.”

“Yeah?”

“The other day, when you and Cheryl went out to the Sweetwater River—”

Jason seized up. He felt exposed. He answered before his father could finish the sentence.

“Yeah?”

“When you and Cheryl went out to the Sweetwater River… well, when you came back, I noticed you had quite a bit of mud on your clothes. Both of you.”

Jason’s heart almost burst. Terror seized him by throat. His father didn’t know. He _couldn’t_ know.

“Oh…” he said, almost choking. 

“It’s just that you were wearing your Sunday best. Not cheap, you know.”

“We… we fell while launching the boat. It had just rained. It was muddy.”

Cliff smiled in reassurance. “Of course. I was only curious.”

Jason nodded, then turned and disappeared up the stairs as quickly as he could. He shut himself in his room and waited for his heart rate to subside. There wasn’t much that terrified him more than the thought of someone finding about him and Cheryl. Mostly because his parents’ wrath would fall on Cheryl, not him. Penelope would say it was Cheryl’s fault—that she had ‘corrupted’ him or ‘seduced’ him or some similar nonsense. He could hardly imagine what she’d do to her. And Jason couldn’t bear have that on his hands.

* * *

 

Friday came quickly.

Jason lay back on his bed, laptop on his chest. He was splitting his time rather unevenly between the Bulldogs group chat and a biology paper.

_Archie:_ **Hey has anyone else in here taken Spencer’s next chemistry test yet??**

_TheReg is typing_

_TheReg:_ **No.**

_Archie:_ **It took you 30 seconds to type ‘no’?**

_TheReg:_ **I’m typing with one hand. ; )**

_Archie:_ **are you screwing with me**

_TheReg:_ **Nah**

Jason grumbled.

_Jason:_ **Stop blowing up the chat with this shit.**

_TheChuckWagon is typing_

_TheChuckWagon:_ **There’s a mute button, Raggedy Andy.**

_Jason:_ **The second I mute this chat someone’s going to say something important, I’m going to miss it, and then your dad is going to get on my ass for not knowing what’s going on next practice**

_TheReg:_ **He’s got a point. why’s your dad such a hardass, Chuck?**

_TheChuckWagon:_ **He’s not. You’re just pussies.**

_TheReg is typing_

_TheReg_ **: I wish had some pussy rn**

_Archie:_ **Jesus Reggie I thought you were joking but you’re actually taking forever to type anything are you seriously jerking off?**

_TheReg:_ **I can’t help it Andrews. I was just thinking about how good Betty Cooper looked in her cheer uniform today. The whole ‘innocent girl next door’ thing gets me going.**

_Archie:_ **Fuck off. Don’t bring Betty into your stupid shit.**

_TheChuckWagon:_ **Oh man. Wholesome, all-American Andrews is swearing. This is big.**

_Jason:_ **We’re going to end up on one of those ‘local jocks disciplined for misogynistic group chat’ articles. Isn’t Betty gay anyway**

_TheChuckWagon:_ **Wow what**

_Jason:_ **She’s dating Veronica Lodge.**

_TheReg:_ **hot**

_TheChuckWagon:_ **^^^**

_Archie_ **: I’m serious shut up.**

_TheReg_ **: Okay fine let’s talk about Jason’s smoking sister and how she’s got the greatest ass I’ve ever seen.**

Jason bristled. He wished it wasn’t so easy to get under his skin. Hearing them talk about Cheryl like that put him through the fucking roof. Reggie could hardly contain himself even when Jason was _there_ , he didn’t want to think about what he said when he _wasn’t_ there. It probably wasn’t good to be so possessive, but he couldn’t help it.

_Jason:_ **Reggie I will beat the shit out of you tomorrow**

_TheReg_ **: I think the gene that causes gingers must also cause an inability to take a joke**

He was about to type an admittedly humorless reply when his bedroom door swung open and Cheryl stepped inside. She kicked it closed behind her.

“Hey!” he greeted, delighted to see her.

She fell onto the bed beside him, gripped him by the collar of his shirt, and pulled him in for a deep, long kiss. God, her lips tasted wonderful. Cherry. She nestled in between his legs, and he went a little red in the face when he felt the pressure building in his loins. Jason kissed the smooth, flawless ivory skin of his sister’s neck. Her elbow struck his laptop, hitting a couple of keys in the process.

_Jason:_ **ftyhgujjhi7gyu568**

_TheReg:_ **Dude what. Did you have a stroke**

_TheReg:_ **seriously**

_TheChuckWagon_ **: lmao**

_Archie:_ **So I’m assuming that’s a no as far as helping me with my biology test goes**

Jason slid the computer off of his chest and closed it.

“We should lock the door,” he gasped, as Cheryl left a trail of painted kisses across his collarbone.

“Sorry. I can’t play for too long. Actually, I was going to ask you if you could give me a ride?”

“Oh, so you were just buttering me up, huh?” He sat up, playing at being hurt.

“I’m sorry for teasing you.” Cheryl straddled her brother’s leg and ground herself against his thigh. “I’ll make it up to you later, promise.”

Feeling her hot against him, he would much prefer she make it up to him right now.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll drive you. Where?”

“Veronica’s place.”

“For what?”

“Sleepover.” Cheryl was clearly a little embarrassed to use the word.

He laughed. “I won’t ask any further questions.”

“Voiceless and handsome. Just the way I like you.”

He flicked her playfully in the upper arm. “Bitch.”

They stood up, Jason mightily suppressing his heightened sexual frustration. Cheryl was dressed in a striking black dress cinched around the waist with a shining leather belt. Her neckline was a little less than modest, and he allowed himself to stare. It was hardly the sort of dress someone wore to a friend’s house, but she was always prepared to upstage.

The twins backed out of Thornhill’s driveway and headed off through of Riverdale. Jason felt he should bring up the comments his father had made the other day. About the river. He felt like he should bring up his awful suspicion that perhaps the bastard knew something. He should tell her. But he didn’t want to.

As they drove past Pop’s, he finally opened his mouth. “Hey, Cheryl.”

“Hmm?”

“Listen… at the river the other day.” He paused, but that seemed to worry her.

“What?” She looked down at her feet. “You don’t regret it do you?”

He reached out for her hand and she graciously took it, lacing their fingers together. “God, no, Cherry. It was… it was wonderful, okay? _You’re_ wonderful. I don’t regret anything.”

“Good. Because I’m really looking forward to next time,” she trilled.

“But Dad brought up…” He shook his head, suddenly feeling silly. “He asked me why we were covered in mud when we got back.”

Cheryl’s eyes went wide. “You think he knows?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so. But… maybe we should be more careful. I don’t know.”

“If Mom and Dad found out…” The terror in her voice was so thick it made him want to cry. She should  _never_ have to be that afraid of anything. Especially not her own parents. He just wanted he to feel safe. 

“If they ever found out, I’d take care of it,” Jason said. “I’d tell them I pushed you into it, or—”

“Like _hell_ you would. We don’t live in an Elizabethan tragedy and I’m not going to let you martyr yourself under any circumstances. Anyway, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. And we won’t. Now let go of my hand before you get us both killed.”

He let go.

They pulled up in front of the Pembrooke.

“Is it safe to give you a kiss?” he asked.

“On the cheek.” She turned her head and he kissed her gently. Cheryl opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car.

“By the way…” She grinned devilishly and pointed at his chest. He looked down to see that the smears of her lipstick were still plainly visible across his throat and collarbone.

Before he could respond, she turned around and flounced toward the building. He smiled.

* * *

 

Cheryl planted her fists on her hips. “Well, I’m here, Evita.”

“ _Hello_ , Cheryl.”

Veronica opened the door and stepped aside to allow her guest entry. Cheryl entered, looking less than impressed.

“So you live like this, huh?”

“Yeah. We’re a real charity case.”

Betty Cooper sat in an armchair in the living room corner. She waved sheepishly to Cheryl.

“Is this everyone?”

“Well, I invited Josie and a few other girls from the squad but I’m not sure if they’ll show. I hope to God they do, if only to dilute your presence.”

“Mm. Are your parents here?”

“No. Mom’s in town, Dad went into the city for the day.”

Cheryl sank into a chair opposite Betty. “Well, I’m already devastatingly bored.”

Betty sighed. “Cheryl, do you spend every waking moment looking for something to be disappointed in or angry about? Isn’t it _exhausting_?”

“You build up an endurance.” Cheryl threw her bag to the ground. “So, Veronica. About that Spanish wine…”

The night got later, and no one else showed up, leaving the three to entertain themselves. Or rather, leaving the two to survive the third. Veronica dutifully broke out the promised drink, an aged Rioja Tempranillo. A few hours and a glass or three later found them seated around the dining room table, holding a half-coherent, rambling conversation with no real focus.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up, Cheryl. You’ve obviously never tried to get a reservation at Dorsia before.” Veronica sipped her wine.

“What’s Dorsia?” Betty’s cheeks were ruddy from the wine.

“Dorsia…” Veronica chuckled. “Dorsia is impossible, sweetheart.”

“Honestly, eating out is an inclination of the _nouveaux riche_ , anyway,” Cheryl said.

Veronica groaned.

“Is everything a competition with you?” Betty asked.

Cheryl glanced slyly over the rim of her glass. “It’s a Blossom trait.”

“I guess you’re all ready to take hold of the reigns of Blossom Maple Farms, then?” Veronica asked.

“Afraid not.” Cheryl shook her head. “That honor goes to my brother. No girls allowed. My dad’s old fashioned. Too bad, too. How about you? What does Lodge Industries even _do_ , as a matter of fact?”

Veronica was silent. She fell deep into thought. “Uh… real estate development mostly? But… other stuff, too? You know, I probably don’t know as much as I should about the family business.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” Cheryl glanced at Betty. “I envy you, Betty. I don’t think a modest little family newspaper has got much room for capitalist subterfuge or shady dealings.”

Betty giggled. “You’d be surprised. My mom can sure spin things.”

“Oh, I know,” Cheryl replied.

“You should see how she covered the… uh…”

“Your near-Lindbergh Baby incident?” Cheryl finished.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Cheryl put down her wine glass. Her face became serious. “Hey, all joking aside, that must have been terrifying. “

“It _was_ ,” Veronica said. Then, with a bravado buttressed by her drink, she rolled up her sleeve to reveal the red mark the bullet had left on her upper arm.

“Nice scar.”

“Not funny,” Betty huffed.

“A little funny,” Veronica admitted.

“Did Sheriff Keller’s incompetent ass ever get around to finding the creeps responsible?”

Veronica polished off her glass. “I don’t think so. I don’t think he looked too hard.”

“You’d think a rich city girl’s near-abduction would command the full attention of the Riverdale PD but, hey.” Cheryl shrugged.

“Yeah. You would.”

“You know, funny thing. Serpents and Ghoulies… I never thought they’d ever have the guts to do anything like that.”

“What are you saying?” Betty asked.

“Nothing,” Cheryl said. “Just that it’s weird, is all. And off the record, I’m glad you both came out of it okay.” Cheryl’s gaze fell to Betty and Veronica loosely holding hands. Her eyes twinkled. “ _More_ than okay?”

“I knew it was just a matter of time before you—” Betty said.

“Relax, cutie. I’m just teasing. I’m happy for the two of you. Wedding bells soon?”

“Cheryl, I’ll throw this wine bottle at your head,” Veronica warned.

“No need to get violent.” Cheryl turned to Betty. “Your parents are cool with it?”

“My parents… don’t know,” Betty mumbled.

Veronica rubbed her girlfriend's shoulder in comfort.

“Ooh. New travels fast in Riverdale. You’d best brace yourself for the day it reaches them.”

“My mom will get over it,” Betty said, sounding less than sure. “It’s not that it’s a girl, just that it’s…”

“ _This_ girl,” Veronica finished. 

Cheryl laughed. She raised her glass. “ _C’est la vie_.”

Just as she spoke, the front door opened. The girls spun around. Hiram Lodge stepped into the penthouse. He stood up straight and gave the girls a perfect, pearly white smile. The color drained from Betty and Cheryl’s faces, but Veronica just smiled smoothly and said, “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, girls,” Hiram replied. He walked past them, heading for his study. “Make sure not to drink it all,” he advised. He smiled again, and then disappeared.

“So… your dad’s cool, huh?” Cheryl said.

Veronica huffed. “If you make a _Mean Girls_ reference, so help me God…”

They stayed up for another hour or so, before Veronica announced that she was tired. Betty agreed, and the two disappeared to change into their nightclothes and shower. Cheryl, who was still very much awake, remained at the table. She balanced her wine glass between her fingers. 

Cheryl didn’t really notice Hiram until he was already within striking distance. She turned her head around and stared.

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Lodge.”

“Hi, Cheryl.” Hiram strolled over to the refrigerator, cracked it open, and took out a bottle of water. He noticed the redhead’s eyes following him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your father you’ve been drinking.” He winked.

Cheryl smiled awkwardly. “Thanks.”

“But… can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Talk to me… about what?”

He motioned for her to stand up, and she reluctantly did.

“Just… come with me.” He walked back towards his study, looking over his shoulder to make sure she was following. Cheryl’s reptile brain screamed at her that something was wrong. She ignored it and willed her less than eager feet to move.

Hiram held the door to his study open for her, and pulled up a chair in front of his desk. Once she’d sat down, legs trembling, he slid behind the desk.

“Is… there something wrong?” Cheryl asked. She looked towards the door, which was sadly closed. She felt caged.

“No. Not exactly.” There was a long, awkward silence as Cheryl’s mind raced. “I’m glad you’re getting along with Veronica,” Hiram said.

“Yeah.”

“Our families have some history, you know.”

“History?”

“History.”

“Do you know what your father does?”

Cheryl snorted. “My father does plenty.”

“Do you know what your father does for business?”

“He… sells maple syrup? Look, why are you interrogating me?”

“He does that. But do you know what else he does?”

Cheryl shook her head. “What on God’s good earth are you talking about?”

“Do you think that’s your father’s only source of income?”

“What are you driving at?” she asked. She felt somehow challenged.

“I’ll be frank, because I know that’s your style.” Hiram placed his palms on the surface of his desk. Cheryl leaned away. “Your father’s a criminal. Besides your family’s… renowned syrup monopoly, he traffics narcotics, among other things.”

Cheryl blanched. That was ridiculous of course. Stupid. But then why did hearing those words strike so deep at her? Why did she suddenly feel so wounded?

“Well, now I know where Veronica gets her _wit_ ,” Cheryl growled.

“I’m not joking,” Hiram replied. His face was straight. He spoke in a manner that left no doubt that he was _not_ joking.

“Well, then you’re lying,” she spat, getting angry.

“I’m not lying, either. I know this because we’ve been business partners in the past. And more recently, competitors. Let me ask you a question: who do you think tried to have my daughter abducted?”

“How the hell should I know?” she demanded. She thought back to her father’s clear discomfort when the subject had been broached. Thought back to all the peculiarities of the incident. _Just a few creeps from the Southside_. _Or not_. She suddenly felt chilly.

“It was your father’s attempt to, uh…” Hiram chuckled. “Put me in line,” he said, smiling triumphantly. “Unfortunately, he’s a bit out of his depth.”

“Prove it,” Cheryl said.

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter if you believe me now,” he said. And she felt herself, much to her own disgust, closer and closer to believing him. “Just ask yourself if you really believe it’s maple syrup that pays for your lifestyle.”

She felt sick.

“But the real issue here is: I need your help.”

She scoffed. “My _help_? You call me in here to accuse my family of being criminals and then you want my _help_? With _what_?”

“Tell me about your brother, Jason.”

Cheryl could feel tears of rage building up in the corners of her eyes. She had no idea what this man wanted to say about Jason, but she knew damn well she didn’t want to hear it.

“ _What_ about Jason?”

Hiram sipped his water. She could tell he was suppressing a smile. It infuriated her.

“I’ve met him. He’s a nice young man. Smart, handsome. A little quiet.”

Her lip trembled.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

“What do you care?” Cheryl snapped.

“You two went out for a boat ride the other day, didn’t you? On the Sweetwater River?”

Her entire body trembled now. She clenched her hands into tight fists. “What?”

Hiram reached into his desk, retrieved his laptop, and flipped it open. He punched a few keys. “Come here.” Hiram waved for her to come around his desk.

She stood, her feet weighing her down. Hiram motioned her closer. Cheryl felt like she wanted to vomit.

Hiram pulled up a file on the screen. He opened it.

Cheryl almost cried out in shock. She was dizzy. This could not be happening.

It was a picture of her and Jason—very clear—kneeling in the grass alongside the Sweetwater River in each other’s arms, enjoying a kiss that was in no way fraternal. The next one showed her sitting astride him, his hands on her waist. She could hardly imagine the smiling girl in the photo was her.

“Wh—who—where—where did you get this? Why…”

“Does that matter?”

“What do you _want_?” she almost screamed.

“I want you to tell me a few things. About your father’s business.”

“He doesn’t tell _me_ anything. How the hell am I supposed to… what do you want to _know_?”

“I want to know who his contacts are. The ones who run his distribution network out of Riverdale. I want to know where he stores his product ahead of sale. For starters.”

“Well I don’t _know_ any of that! I didn’t know _anything_ about _any_ of this until now!”

“Talk to your brother. He’ll know. If not, he’ll find out. And I’m sure he’ll be eager to help.”

Cheryl tried to ignore the urge to punch him in the face. She blinked away tears.

“And if I don’t do it…”

“Well… I don’t think I have to spell it out.” Hiram finished his water. Then he extended a hand. “So, what do you say, Cheryl?”

Cheryl was numb. This felt like one of her nightmares. Mechanically, she reached out and shook the man’s hand.

He smiled that dazzling smile again. “Good.”

Cheryl spun around and hurried towards the door.

“Oh and don’t look so glum. It’s a sleepover. Have fun.”


	9. Chapter 9

Cheryl left very early the following morning. Veronica sat up to see the redhead gathering her things, frantic and feverish. Betty still slept soundly at Veronica’s side. She tried not to wake her up.

Veronica shook her head. “Cheryl… you’re leaving already?”

“Yes.” Her voice shook a little.

“Wh—”

“Because I have something to do.”

“Okay…”

Cheryl snatched up her bag and stormed out of the door.

“Um… okay.” Veronica watched in confusion. Betty stirred. “Bye.”

Betty’s blue eyes opened slowly. “Hmmm… Ronnie, what’s—”

Veronica patted her shoulder. “Nothing, babe. Go back to sleep.”

* * *

Jason chewed on the tip of a pencil.

“You’re going to ruin your teeth,” Jughead Jones warned.

Jason stopped chewing. The pencil hung from his teeth.

“I’m gonna ruin your face,” he mumbled around the eraser.

Reggie chanted, “Fight! Fight! Figh—”

“Shut the fuck up Reggie,” Jason said.

From his seat next to Reggie, Kevin Keller shook his head and sighed.

It was an odd collection of people. But group projects make strange bedfellows.

“Alright, Jughead make sure to put the note about the blood motif in the third slide.”

Jughead saluted and hit a few keys on his laptop.

“Holy fuck, this is boring,” Reggie moaned. “You guys want a beer?”

Kevin threw up his hands. “No, Reggie! No, I don’t want to get drunk at your house while we’re supposed to be putting together a powerpoint on _Macbeth_.”

“How about you, Jason?”

“I… what kind of beer?”

“Pabst Blue Ribbon.”

“For fuck’s sake, Reggie.”

“Um… is that a yes?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Reggie dashed into the kitchen and returned with four beers. He passed them out, even to an incredulous Kevin.

An hour or so later found all four of the boys having forgotten their project entirely.

“ _No Country For Old Men_ was a phenomenal movie. You’re a philistine, Reggie,” Jughead said.

“I had no idea what the fuck was going on half the time,” Reggie protested.

“That’s because you’re incapable of following anything more complex than _Transformers_.”

“For once, I agree with Jughead,” Jason said. “ _No Country For Old Men_ was great.”

“Have you guys ever seen _True Grit?_ ” Kevin asked. “That’s Nolan, too.”

Jughead nearly leapt out of his seat. “Yes! I love that movie!”

“That’s the uh… western, right? With Jeff Bridges?” Jason asked.

“Right.”

“Yeah. That’s a good one. Does anyone here like _Oh Brother Where Art Thou?”_ Jason put down his beer.

“It was okay,” Reggie said.

“It was _fantastic,_ ” Jughead countered.

“Man of constant sorrow, right?” Jason smiled. “I—” Then his phone rang. “Fuck. Hold on a second.”

“All the time you need, bro,” Reggie said.

“Hello? Hey, Cher, wh—okay, okay. Hold up. I’m at Reggie’s. Working on a project for English. Yeah. No. No. Calm down. You’re what? Wai—shit.” She hung up on him.

“Everything okay?” Kevin asked.

“I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with her. Hold on.” He called her back. The phone rang twice. “Hey, Cheryl. Listen. No, don’t. No, don’t call an Uber—I’ll—how are you already on your way here? How are you eve—fuck!” She hung up again.

“Did she find a split end or something?” Jughead quipped.

Reggie giggled.

Jason shot them both a vicious glare.

Ten uncomfortable minutes later, there was a frantic knock on the door. Jason sprang up and opened the door, practically catching his sister as she fell forward into his arms.

“JJ!”

“Hey, Cheryl.”

The other boys waved from inside the house. She ignored them. Cheryl dug her fingers into her brother’s arm and dragged him outside.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jason looked into his sister’s big, terrified eyes. “What happened?” He closed the door behind them.

The story that tumbled from her lips was difficult to follow, to say the least. Something about Hiram Lodge blackmailing them? And their father being a drug dealer? He stopped cold when he heard that. It was true of course. But how had she found out? He felt queasy.

“We need to go,” Cheryl stammered.

“Yeah. Sure.” He leaned in and kissed her briefly, hardly remembering they were standing in front of Reggie Mantle’s house in broad daylight in a suburban neighborhood. As they slipped into the car and pulled out of the driveway, the door barged open and Reggie sprang out, trailed by Jughead and Kevin. They all looked hopelessly bewildered.

“Where the hell are you going?” Reggie shouted.

Neither Jason nor Cheryl answered. They hurried away down the road, leaving their confused classmates in their wake. Once they’d gotten a good distance away, near the turnpike skirting the drive-in, Jason slowed the convertible and coaxed it to a stop alongside an empty stretch of road.

“Alright. Talk to me again. Slower this time.”

Cheryl swallowed. She nodded. She told her story again. Slower this time. His heart dropped as he realized that everything was on the verge of falling apart. His vision trembled. He struggled to swallow.

“Is it true?” Cheryl’s voice. Now she was less terrified than angry. She dragged him back to reality. “JJ, is it _true_?”

“Is what true?” he asked, mentally kicking himself for the evasion even as he said it. He knew damn well _what_.

“About Dad. Is it true?”

He tried to stay his shaking hands. He managed to swallow and focused his eyes on his sister. “Yes. It’s true.”

The last of the terror melted from her face. It was replaced by blinding rage. “You _son of a bitch!_ ”

“Wh—”

“How _dare_ you? You’ve been letting me live under the same roof as a drug-dealing murderer for how long now? Weeks? Months?”

“Just a few weeks,” he answered meekly. “I didn’t know before that, I swear.”

“Oh, _just_ a few weeks? Oh, thank God! What the hell is wrong with you, Jason?”

“I wanted to keep you safe!”

“You wanted to keep me _safe_? A lot of good that did, because we’re both about to be totally fucked!”

“Alright, calm d—”

“Calm _down_? Why the hell should I calm down?”

“What did Lodge say, exactly?”

“I told you what he said. He told me he wanted to know all about… you know, dad's...operation, or else he’d release those pictures. Who the hell took those by the way? When I find out…”

“What the fuck does he want to know?”

She scoffed. “I don’t know. You tell me! Since you’ve _known_ all this time that our father was Don Corleone!”

“Ah, _shit_.” He slammed his face into the steering wheel. “Those pictures. Are they anything really incriminating?”

“They’re pictures of me sitting in your lap with my tongue in your mouth, yes they’re _fucking incriminating_.”

“Okay.” He reached out to hold her hand, but she clenched her fist tight. “It’s going to be okay. We just need to figure out what to d—”

“I _know_ what we’re going to do!” Cheryl spat, lovely face red with fury. “You’re going to tell me what Lodge wants to know, and we’re going to tell _him_ , and then we’re going to hope he keeps his word!”

“Cheryl, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, yes I do.”

“No. You don’t understand. If Dad finds out we tried to double cross him…”

“He’ll do what? Kill us?”

“Yeah, he very well fucking might!”

Cheryl went silent. She slumped forward, burying her face in her hands. Jason slowly reached out to caress the small of her back. He decided against it. Cheryl cried out in frustration.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he sighed.

Cheryl leaned back. Her face was bright red. Her makeup was smeared. She was breathing incredibly hard. She closed her eyes.

Jason wiped a few stray tears from the corner of his eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Cheryl croaked. “It’s not.”

“Alright,” Jason said, trembling with rage and fear. “Alright. I think I have an idea.”

* * *

After Betty left for home, Veronica Lodge went to confront her father.

“Daddy, what did you want with Cheryl last night?” she asked.

Hiram looked up at her over his cup of coffee. He’d woken about an hour before, and already he was dressed, his hair perfectly styled, and his eyes alert.

“I just wanted to talk with her a bit. Cliff’s an old friend of mine, you know.”

“Really?” Veronica asked. She was _overflowing_  with skepticism. “You never mentioned that.”

“Why do you ask?” Hiram's tone suggested that she ought to _stop_ asking.

“She left in a hurry this morning. She seemed a little panicked. I was just… wondering if it had anything to do with that.”

Hiram chuckled. “You think I scared Cheryl Blossom off?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just wondering what you talked to her about.”

Hiram sighed. “I asked her about her father. Her family. How the business was doing. That’s all. Honestly, _mija_ , I don’t know why you always feel compelled to interrogate me.”

Veronica crossed her arms. “That’s all you talked about, huh?”

“Yes, Veronica. That’s all. For God’s sake.”

“Hmm. Alright, then.” She turned to walk away. “Enjoy your breakfast, Daddy.”

* * *

“Lodge wants to know who helps Cliff Blossom move his product out of Riverdale. Right?”

Cheryl nodded. “Yeah.”

“He wants _names_?”

“Yes.”

“Well I don’t _know_ their fucking names!” Jason pounded a fist on the dashboard. “But I can try to find out. _Try_.” He slumped forward over the steering wheel. “ _Fuck_!” He slammed a hand onto the wheel. The horn blew, and the twins jolted in their seats. Jason buried his face in his hands.

Cheryl reached out and softly laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder. She felt his muscles bunched up under his shirt. His skin was hot. Cheryl could sense his heart throbbing.

“It’ll be okay, JJ,” she said with little conviction.

“No, Cheryl. Whatever happens, it’s _not_ going to be okay.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“You said you had an idea? What?”

“I can try to get it out of Dad.”

“What?”

“Names. People. Something to give Lodge.”

“Okay. How can you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then—”

“I don’t _know_. I’ll try to talk to him. Or… hell, maybe he’s got a ledger or something with all of his drug buddies in it.” He smiled bitterly. “Fuck.” Jason slipped the keys back into the ignition and the car hummed to life.

“So where are you taking us now?” Cheryl asked.

“I don’t—”

“I don’t want to go home,” she said. “Not now.”

“Neither do I.”

But there was nowhere else to go.

* * *

They returned to Thornhill to find, mercifully, that neither of their parents was home. Jason unlocked the door and stepped inside. Cheryl followed behind him. They walked stiffly. Jason slumped onto the couch before the fireplace. It was cold, but he couldn’t be bothered to light it. Cheryl wordlessly sat down beside him.

The house, ancient, murky, and cavernous yawned all around them. Cheryl felt like if they took a single step forward or back they would tumble into the hungry darkness of Thornhill and never emerge again. She slipped her shoes off and pulled her knees up to her chest. A few rebel tears collected in the corners of her eyes. She forced them back through sheer willpower.

“What did we do?” Jason mumbled.

“What?”

“What did we to deserve any of this?”

She didn’t say anything for a long while. Then she smiled a little. It was a bitter, painful smile. Still, a smile. “Well, you did sleep with your sister.”

He didn’t respond, and she was afraid she’d pissed him off. But then he giggled, and the giggle grew into a full-throated laugh. And then he was laughing heartily. He ran his hands through his mussed up ginger hair, still laughing. When he finally finished, there were a few tears staining his cheeks. 

“My God,” he chuckled. “We’re damned.”

“You’re just realizing that, now?”

He laughed again. Then he turned to her. Even with his eyes red from tears and the blood out from his face, Cheryl still thought he was the loveliest person she’d ever seen. She concentrated on the sharp, deep blue of his eyes. His gentle, full red lips.

“If I kiss you, will you get mad?” he asked.

“Just a little.”

Before he could lean down, she sat up and pressed her lips to his. Cheryl stumbled a bit and felt their teeth clash. Jason gasped, and she laughed a little. But she didn’t break the kiss. She’d been meaning to tease him about what chapstick he used, because his lips were always so soft. Or maybe it was just genetics. The Blossoms had good genes.

“The other day you asked me if I regretted it,” Jason said when the kiss ended. “What we did. I didn’t. I still don’t.”

She smiled, and she believed him entirely.

”Do you?” he asked. “Now?”

She didn’t waste a moment. “Fuck no.”

He kissed her brow.

“You know, ever since elementary school I’ve had to deal with legions of horny schoolgirls asking me about you. ‘Your brother’s so cute!’ ‘Does he ever mention me?’ ‘Is he single?’”

Jason laughed. “And what’d you tell them?”

Cheryl grinned. “I always told them you were taken, even when you weren’t. _Especially_ when you weren’t. I made up a quit few fake girlfriends for you over the years.”

“Well, I always knew you were the jealous type,” he teased.

“Only when it comes to things that are mine.”

“Oh? I’m a thing, now?” He elbowed her.

“No. But you are _mine_.”

Some hours passed. Night fell. Tire on the gravel outside roused the twins. They’d fallen asleep on each other’s shoulders. Cheryl sprung to her feet. Jason followed suit. They slunk off to their own bedrooms ahead of their father.

Cliff entered Thornhill and darkened the place further.

Jason collapsed onto his bed. He remembered the terror that had filled him when he’d confronted his father about Veronica Lodge a few days before. That had been _nothing_ compared to this. He felt like he was about to die. In the days since, Cliff had begun to regard him with a serious caution, if not open suspicion.

This was such a mess.

He wondered again and again who had snapped pictures of him and Cheryl at the river. He was just as eager as her to uncover the culprit. If he ever did, he would make them wish they had never been born. He would tear their hearts out with his bare hands. He would—he was getting ahead of himself.

Jason had something to do right now. He stood. As he left his room he felt the fear begin to fade away. It was replaced by a cold sense of fateful purpose. Maybe he was walking to his end. Who knew? He had precious few choices. Fate had played her hand.

Cliff was in his study, of course. Jason formulated his first words. His lead. He knocked on the door.

“Who?”

“Dad? It’s me.”

“What is it, Jason?”

“I have to tell you something.”

A sigh. “Come in.”

He tried his best to look flustered yet innocent. “Hey.”

“What is it?” Cliff asked languidly. His violent green eyes raked his son from head to toe. Jason thought of a wolf sizing up prey. He almost took an involuntary step away from his father, but he summoned the courage to stand fast.

“I have some bad news. I think, at least.”

Cliff raised his eyebrows. He hardly looked worried. “Bad news?”

“Yeah.” Jason’s voice trembled. He suddenly wished he’d asked Cheryl to leave the house while he did this. It was too late, now.

“Well, what is it? If it’s important, come out with it.”

“I was talking to Kevin today—”

“Keller’s kid.”

“Yeah. He was talking about his dad’s work. He said that Sheriff Keller was thinking about making inroads into the local gangs. You know, the Serpents. The Ghoulies. Said that he was tired of them pushing drugs on school kids.”

Cliff nodded, quiet and calm.

Jason continued, “I was just thinking… what if that led back to you? To _us_ ,” he quickly corrected.

Cliff stood. “That is a bit concerning.”

“What’s the name of the guy that runs the Ghoulies? He helps move product into town for you sometimes, doesn’t he?”

“Malachi?” Cliff snorted. “He does his part, yes.”

Jason nodded. This was good. He was getting names. His father didn’t seem much the wiser. He hoped to God he didn’t try to confirm that Sheriff Keller was or was not planning such an operation.

“Yeah. And the guy that heads the Serpents?”

Cliff shrugged. “It’s Jones nominally. He delegates most of it to two men: Mustang and Tall Boy. I don’t know their real names, or else I’d never call them by those ridiculous gang _nome de guerre_.”

Jason struggled to stick every name he heard into memory. _Malachi. Jones. Tall Boy. Mustang. That was good. That was a start._

“Truthfully, Jason, I don’t think any operation Keller launches will get very close to us. I think the man’s smart enough to know when he shouldn’t look too hard into something. He’ll pick up a few street-level dealers, Mayor McCoy will be happy, and it will all blow over.”

“You think so?”

“It’s happened before.” Cliff took a step closer. “Still, it might be best to shift gears a little. Perhaps slow the speed and magnitude of distribution. What do you think?”

“You want to know what _I_ think?” Jason asked.

“Yes. I do.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Right.” Cliff paused for a second. His eyes flickered in the light. Ghostly. “Jason, do you see that little stack of papers, there?” He pointed to a stackon a little nightstand just behind his son.

Jason nodded, still terrified.

“Can you grab it for me?”

Jason turned around. As he was lifting the papers, he realized they were all blank. He squinted in confusion. “Wh—”

“Turn around,” came his father’s voice. It had not changed in tone or intensity at all. It was just as calm and smooth.

Jason turned around slowly. He let the blank papers fall from his hands. And when he faced his father again, he was looking not only into those cruel green eyes but also into the barrel of a revolver.

Jason blinked. His mind came to a stop.

“Uh—”

“Shut up, Jason.”

Jason complied. He half expected his father to just shoot him then and there. Cliff’s face certainly suggested he wanted to do as much. His father shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, but if you think I’m that stupid…”

“I’m not doing anything!” Jason croaked, unsure whose benefit he was lying for.

 Cliff stormed over to him, and before he could put up any resistance, grabbed his son roughly by the collar of his shirt like he was a child again. He shoved him up against the wall and shoved the pistol into his face. Jason’s pupils dilated in terror. “Last Wednesday. Why did you ask me about Lodge? Huh?”

“Because—”

“Did _you_ come up with that bullshit story about Keller? Or did someone else feed it to you? What are you trying to do, turn me into the police?”

“No!”

Cliff pressed the barrel of the revolver into Jason’s cheek. A stormy fear swept over him. His father’s eyes were at once cold and burning. His face was unvexed, his lips firm, but his eyes looked like an animals. Jason expected him any moment to pull the trigger.

Then Cliff turned away. “Cheryl!” he shouted into the hall.

“What are you doing?” Jason hissed.

“Shut up,” Cliff ordered. “Cheryl!” he called again in a harder voice.

The two men stood in silence, staring each other down. Jason felt his father’s grip on his collar tighten. If he just lowered the gun for a second, he could make a break for it. Then he heard footsteps out in the hall.

“Daddy?”

“Cheryl! Get in here!”

Jason called out “Cheryl, do—”

Cliff cracked him over the head with the grip of the revolver.

Before he could recover and call out again, the door opened and Cheryl stepped inside. He saw her gasp as she took in the scene. His father re-focused his aim onto her instead. Jason felt some of the fear give way to rage.

Cheryl stepped back.

“Get back here,” Cliff commanded. 

She came closer. Cliff reached out and grabbed her by the arm. He released Jason and threw him against the far wall. Jason recovered while his father pressed the barrel of the gun to his daughter’s head. From across the room, Jason could see his sister’s eyes go wide with fear.

“What are you _doing?”_ she bleated.

Cliff jerked her by the hair. “Shut up.”

“Let her go.” Jason balled his fists, But didn’t dare take a step forward.

“Talk to me, Jason. Man to man. Why did you ask me about Veronica Lodge? Why did you want those names? Malachi? Jones? Why?”

“ _Let her go!_ ”

“Then talk to me, you little son of a bitch. Did someone put you up to it?”

Jason said nothing. Fury and fear ebbed and flowed inside of him.

“You’re not going to talk?”

“Let _go_ of me!” Cheryl cried.

“Tell that to your brother. I just want him to talk.”

He still said nothing.

“Alright.” Cliff sighed. He twisted Cheryl’s arm behind her back and ignored her cry of pain.

“Jason, don’t tell him anything!”

Jason said nothing.

“Do you think I’m joking, Jason? Because I swear to you, I’m not.”


	10. Chapter 10

Veronica Lodge couldn’t stop thinking about Cheryl Blossom. Well, about her father and Cheryl Blossom. She had been seriously disturbed that morning. Something had happened. He had said or done  _ something  _ to her.

Did it have anything to do with whatever had happened between her father and Clifford some weeks back? Did it have anything, God forbid, to do with her near abduction?

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Her worked to its capacity. Five or so times she opened her laptop and tried to distract herself with something banal. Five or so times it failed. She considered calling Betty or Archie or someone else to see if they wanted to hang out.

But then Veronica realized this wouldn’t stop gnawing at her until she had found some kind of answer. That was just her nature. Heart beating hard in her chest, she called up Cheryl. No answer. She was going to try Jason, but she didn’t have his number. She tried again to forget about it. Again she failed.

Finally, self-defeated, she got up, dressed, and slipped quietly out of the Pembrooke. Still early in the morning, and Veronica was careful not to wake either of her parents. Her father would be angry that she’d left the house unescorted, but it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. She’d always lived by that maxim. 

She tried calling Cheryl again. Again there was no answer.

Veronica called Archie.

“Hey! Archie!”

“What’s up, Ronnie?”

“Do you have Jason’s number?”

“Jason Blossom? Yeah. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to get in touch with Cheryl and she’s not picking up. That’s all.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, I’ll text it to you.”

He did. She called. Again, no answer. She called once more. No answer.

Veronica began to feel seriously uneasy. She remembered that just behind her, in the penthouse, both her parents awaited. That made her all the uneasier. She jogged out to the curb. It was about 9:30 in the morning. It wasn’t  _ too  _ early, she thought. She wouldn’t be  _ too  _ much of a nuisance.

Veronica called an Uber and set its destination as Thornhill.

* * *

 

Jughead Jones was in the middle of eating a solid breakfast of soggy frosted flakes with a glass of water when a car horn blasted. He grumbled, through his backpack over his shoulder, and stormed out of the trailer.

Reggie Mantle’s car waited outside, with the man himself hanging out of the driver’s seat, and a fidgety Kevin Keller riding shotgun.

They were supposed to finish up their group project today, but much to the boys’ chagrin it would take longer than expected considering Jason’s unexpected flight the day before. Jughead noticed, with not a little annoyance, that the ginger wasn’t in the car.

“Get in, Edgar Allan Poe!” Reggie shouted. “I wanna get this shit  _ done  _ before 4:00!”

“What’s at 4:00?” he called back.

“Jughead, just get in the car,” Kevin pleaded.

He leapfrogged into the back, throwing his backpack into the seat next to him.

“So where’s our missing ginger?”

“Fuck knows,” Reggie growled.

“We’ve been calling him all morning.” Kevin craned his head around and said, “He’s got half of the notes with him.”

“We’re gonna swing by the motherfucker’s house and drag him out of bed if we have to,” Reggie announced. “He’s not flaking out of his share of the work on my watch.”

The broad-shouldered football player gunned the ignition and the car tore off down the road.

Jughead didn’t tend to think about Jason Blossom a whole lot. Or Cheryl for that matter. Thinking of the Blossoms in general was bound to give him a headache. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious as to what had prompted Cheryl’s sudden arrival and the twins’ equally sudden disappearance yesterday. Maybe they’d find out.

* * *

 

Jason struggled to see through the mess of blood over his face. His lip was split. So was his cheek. He was pretty sure the bone around his left eye was shattered. Either way, he could hardly see through it. He was strapped tight to a chair. The back dug into his shoulders and the ropes bit into his wrists. He’d rubbed them raw trying to free himself.   

Across the room, painfully out of his reach, sat Cheryl, bound as tight as him. Jason drifted in and out of consciousness thanks to the severe beating his father had given him. It took him a moment to remember that he was in the barn. Filled to the top with the sweet nectar—of all kinds—on which the family business was built.

His father was furious. Apoplectic. He wanted to know exactly what game his children were playing. Why Jason had been prying. What they were up to. And he wanted to know  _ now _ .

Jason had managed to keep quiet, even as his father’s blows rained down. But soon enough Cheryl was unable to watch her brother suffer anymore.

“It was Hiram Lodge!” she’d cried out. Cliff had cut his interrogation short. He’d stormed out of the barn without a word. He hadn’t been back since.

Jason lifted his head with a sigh of effort. His entire body throbbed in pain.

“Cheryl!” he croaked.

“JJ? Oh, you’re awake! Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” he assured her. Fresh blood dripped into his mouth from his nose. He couldn't wipe it away. “Listen: I’m so, so sorry. For everything. For all of this. I was a fucking coward. I should have gone to the police weeks ago." He swallowed and tried not to sniffle. "But I love you, okay? I love you so, so much. No matter what happens, I love you more than anything in the world—”

“Stop! Look, save it. This is not the time for anguished dying confessions of love. We have to—”

The barn door swung open. The dark shape of their father appeared. The twins shivered with fear. He strode into the barn, the revolver still in his hand.

“Still breathing?” He stood over his son.

Cheryl wanted to rip her father’s throat out. She flexed her fists again and again against her bonds. She wished she could just snap them like threads.

“Fuck you,” Jason seethed.

Cliff smiled, cruel and cold. “No, traitorous little brat, fuck you.” He tapped the barrel of the gun against Jason’s chest.

Cheryl flinched. Her throat was sore from begging.

“But then, I suppose your sister’s got that covered, doesn’t she?”

Cheryl’s mind splintered. An unimaginable horror boiled up in her chest. This simply could not be. None of it. It was all wrong. An intense pressure built up in her skull. She felt she might faint.

“Wha—”

“Oh, you thought I didn’t know about the two of you?” Cliff sniffed in disgust. “Christ, half the town probably knows.” He waited a moment, anticipating a reaction. All that came was a slight grunt of pain from Jason.

Cliff raised his pistol to strike him again. “Is that it?” he asked softly. “Is Hiram Lodge holding it over your heads?” He waited, and again, no response. “Oh, yes, that’s it.” Cliff spun the revolver’s cylinder. “Well, I’ll settle accounts with Hiram Lodge. But as for the two of you…” He leveled the muzzle at Jason’s forehead. The boy refused to close his eyes.

“Stop!” Cheryl pleaded.

He turned around and trained the gun on her instead. “What do I do with the two of you?”

“What? Are you going to kill us?” Cheryl demanded. “Coward.”

Jason shot her a look, silently begging her not to push their father any further.

Cliff just sighed. He looked sad as much as angry. Cheryl kept on straining against her ropes. It was a solid knot, though. Their father lowered the gun, then turned and exited the barn again.

* * *

 

Cliff paced in his study, frustrated. He had no idea what he was going to do. The fact his children were sleeping with each other was the least troubling aspect of this mess, and that said it all. Everything had been falling apart ever since his admittedly slapdash plot to kidnap Hiram’s daughter had failed. He was just about angry enough to kill them both, but that would create a new set of problems. It would be impossible to cover up. The town could hardly survive such a scandal, let alone his business. What if Penelope found out?

 One thing was for sure; he couldn’t let them go free. He was absolutely certain the moment they had the chance they’d turn around and plunge a dagger into his back. Jason knew far, far too much, and by extension Cheryl probably did too, since the boy never could keep his damn mouth shut around her.

He pondered his problem. Then the solution came to him.

What if  _ Hiram Lodge  _ killed them? It was plausible. Everyone knew Lodge was a criminal. Most might not think him capable of out and out murder (though he was), but it would not be beyond the realm of belief.

Yes. That had to be it. He didn’t  _ like  _ doing it, but his idiot children had not left with him a mountain of choices. How could he ever trust them not to go running off to the authorities at the first opportunity? Jason was bad enough, but  _ Cheryl _ … there was never any dissuading the girl when she got something into her head.

Cliff ran his fingers through his false hair. He was trembling. He poured himself a quick glass of brandy. It would help steel his nerves for what he had to do. He stood and walked to the window. He could see the barn from here. He snatched the revolver from his desk. He had to be quick about it. It wouldn’t do to leave them tied out there too long. It was risky. And just cruel, of course.

He stood and went out into the hall.

Then, a car pulled up outside.

* * *

 

Reggie stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He lifted his head up to take in the full dimensions of Thornhill.

“This place gives me the creeps every time,” he said. 

“It’s got such a Hammer Horror ambience about it,” Jughead added.

“I don’t know what the hell that is, but yeah, probably,” Reggie said. 

Kevin got out of the car last and said nothing. The trio walked up to the towering iron gate. Then another vehicle pulled up behind them.

They spun around. The back-right door opened. Someone—a girl—stepped out. Veronica Lodge muttered something to the driver, and joined them at the gate.

“Uh… hi, Veronica,” Kevin said.

Veronica took a step back and cocked her head. She smiled a little, awkwardly. “Uh, hi, Kev.” Her eyes danced from one boy to the other. “What’s uh… what are you guys doing here?”

“Trying to drag Jason Blossom out of his sister’s bed,” Kevin said.

Jughead and Reggie sniggered. Veronica rolled her eyes. 

“But, really?”

“Yeah, really. We’ve got that… stupid English project to do and he’s not getting out of it,” Reggie said.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Jughead asked.

“I’m… looking for Cheryl,” Veronica said. 

“I wouldn’t,” Jughead joked. 

Kevin rang the bell. The mournful tolling rang out over the estate. Someone buzzed in over the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Hello?” Kevin leaned in. “Mr. Blossom?”

The voice of Clifford Blossom, snippy and impatient, filtered out of the speaker.

“Who is this?”

“This is Kevin Keller?”

“Can I help you?”

Reggie leaned in. “We’re looking for JJ—uh, sorry, Jason.”

Everyone giggled, save Veronica. There was a moment’s pause.

“He isn’t here,” Cliff said, curtly.

Veronica shoved Reggie aside. He cried out. She ignored him.

“Is Cheryl home?”

“No,” Cliff said. 

“Well, where is she?” Veronica pressed. 

“She and her brother are out of the house, busy,” Cliff insisted.

“Busy doing  _ what _ ?” Veronica pressed on.

“Uh, Veronica…” Jughead cautioned.

She ignored him.

“Listen… Veronica,” Cliff said. She chilled a bit when she realized he recognized her voice. “Cheryl and Jason  _ aren’t here _ . And I’m busy as well. So I’d appreciate it if you and your friends let me be. Would that be too much to ask?”

Veronica opened her mouth to demand more. He cut her short. The intercom fizzled out.

Veronica swore.

“Uh…” Reggie mumbled.

“Well, I guess he’s succeeded in avoiding the call of duty,” Jughead drawled.

Reggie growled. “I’m gonna kick that fucking pretty boy in the balls the next time I see him,” he said, and turned back towards the car.

“Hey! Hey!” Veronica called. “Where the hell are you guys going?”

“We’re… leaving?” Kevin shrugged.

“Okay, that was weird, wasn’t it?” Veronica asked.

“Weird… how?” Reggie asked. 

“I’ve been trying to reach Cheryl all day, and I’ll bet you guys have been trying your best to reach Jason, too, but none of us have gotten through, huh? So we show up here, and their… shady dad tells us that they’re ‘busy’ doing some vague, indeterminate task. One which he  _ refuses  _ to elaborate on, of course. And he sure sounded like he was in a rush to me.”

Kevin leaned up against Reggie’s car. “What are you implying, exactly?”

“I’m implying that something  _ odd  _ is going on here. And  _ has  _ been for quite a while, matter of fact. Ever since those goons tried to make me the star of my very own SVU episode, at least.”

“What sort of ‘weird’?” Jughead's interest was as ever piqued by the very mention of the weird.

“I think they’re both home,” Veronica said.

“Who?” Reggie asked.

“Who do you… think? Cheryl and Jason.”

“Well, even if they are, we obviously aren’t going to drag them outside, so…” Kevin led.

“I don’t feel right about this,” Veronica sighed. “I  _ really  _ don’t.” She walked alongside the perimeter of the gate, looking up at the spikes bristling along its apex. She reached out and grabbed one of the bars. 

“Veronica, what are you doing?” Kevin asked, tired.

She didn’t respond. She stepped forward and began to scale the gate.  

“What are you…” Jughead stared at her. 

“I’m gonna figure this out!” Veronica called back. 

Jughead stepped forward, a smile on his face.

“Can we please just cut our losses and leave?” Kevin asked.

Reggie shrugged.

Jughead approached the gate, where Veronica was trying, with some difficulty, to hoist herself up over the iron spikes. “You… might have worn something other than a skirt,” Jughead pointed out. 

“Well, I didn’t,” Veronica huffed.

Jughead slipped his foot into the fence between two bars and over a crossbeam and hopped up onto the gate next to her.

“You coming with me?”

He shrugged. “I guess I am." 

“Well, hopefully Kevin can keep his dad from arresting us for trespassing,” Veronica said.

Jughead dragged his chest up over the crest of the fence. The spikes dug into his sternum. He winced.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “Cliff’s got more guns than he knows what to do with; he’ll shoot us.”

Veronica shot him a look. Jughead smiled apologetically.

With a grunt of effort, he flung himself over the spikes and found himself dangling on the far side of the gate. He offered Veronica a hand and helped her over the top. They dropped down and struck the ground hard. “So uh… what… what exactly are you afraid is going on?” Jughead asked.

Veronica shrugged. “I don’t know. Something. I just want to make sure Cheryl’s alright.”

“And… when has she ever  _ not  _ been alright? Anyway, it’s pretty clear their dad doesn’t want us around, so do you wanna go throw pebbles at Cheryl’s window?”

“I’m not that romantic.”

Jughead squinted at the sprawling house, layered with row after row of windows. “Assuming we could figure out which window was hers, anyway.”

From the other side of the gate, Kevin and Reggie watched the two disappear onto the Blossom property.

“We’re going to fail this project,” Kevin said.

* * *

 

“Goddammit!” Cheryl hissed. She flexed her wrists hopelessly against the ropes. They didn’t budge in the slightest. The knot was firm. She felt a few tears well up in her eyes. Her heart beat in terror. What else would their father do? Jason told her he’d killed a man. And  _ ordered  _ the deaths of God knew how many others.

“Cheryl?” Jason called out to her.

She twisted her head around. She could just barely see him, baleful-eyed and bloody faced. His voice was plaintive, almost childlike.

“I’m here, JJ,” she said softly, wishing she could reach out and take his hand.

“I don’t want to die,” he said, as firm and even as he could manage. It was clear he didn't want to sound afraid. 

“You’re  _ not  _ going to die,” she assured him. “ _ We’re  _ not going to die. Okay? We just have to stay calm.”

“I love you, okay?” he said.

“Yeah, you’ll have all the time in the world to love me once we’re out of here, now just—” 

The door to the barn jostled. Cheryl froze. Jason sighed. The door creaked open. She squeezed her eyes shut, blinked away tears, and then opened them again to face her father. A shape stepped inside.

But it wasn’t her father.

It was Veronica Lodge.

“What the hell—” Veronica exclaimed.

“Shut up!” Cheryl hissed. “Shhh!”

Jughead stepped into the barn behind her. “Is this some—”

“Shut up!” Cheryl snapped again.

Veronica rushed over and knelt down next to Cheryl. She fiddled with the knots. 

“God, this is a good knot,” Veronica mumbled. She fought and fussed with the rough rope to little avail.

“Hurry up!”

Jughead tried to free Jason from his bonds, with a bit more success. He was a little better with his hands than Veronica. In a moment, he’d extricated the boy. Jason stood, rubbed his wrists and muttered his thanks.

Within a few moments, they had Cheryl freed, too. Jason pulled his sister into an embrace. He held her tight and shed a few tears on her shoulder. He pulled back. Cheryl looked up at him with immense relief, eyes shining. She licked her lips. He leaned in, intending to kiss her, and then remembered they were not alone. He stopped abruptly and settled for another hug.

“What the hell  _ happened  _ to you?” Jughead asked.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Cheryl demanded of the pair. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“We just… needed his help on a project,” Jughead gestured to Jason.

“I was worried about you,” Veronica said to Cheryl. “Clearly I had good reason to be—who the hell did this to you? Was it—”

Jason put a hand on Cheryl’s shoulder and began walking her out of the barn. “We need to go.  _ Now _ ,” he said to the other two.

“Bu—”

“ _ Now _ ,” Cheryl echoed.

The four exited the barn.

“Did your da—” Jughead tried.

“Daddy’s a regular Vito Corleone,” Cheryl said. “And if you ask another question, I will merrily tear your unfortunate throat out with my bare hands,  _ capiche _ ?”

Jughead fell silent.

They rounded the corner of the barn—and ran smack into Cliff Blossom, brandishing his revolver. Someone squeaked in terror. 

“What in God’s name—” Cliff exclaimed. “Never mind! All of you back! Back!” He waved the gun at them. The teenagers obediently stepped back. Veronica tried slowly to bring her hand to her pocket. “Don’t touch your phone, Veronica,” Cliff said. “Please, don’t.”

Her hand fell away.

“Mr. Blossom—”

“Shut up, Jughead. Back into the barn!” He barked. “All of you!”

They hesitated.

“Go to hell!” Jason hissed. Cliff leveled the gun at his son’s face. Then he swung the barrel to the right and fired. The bullet missed Jason’s head by inches. All four jumped and cried out.

The four, cowed, slunk back towards the barn.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Cliff demanded. “Did your father send you?” he asked, aiming the gun at Veronica.

“My father? No… why would my father—”

“Don’t play dumb with me. And… put your hands on your head,” he ordered.

Veronica locked her fingers behind her head.

“What, does your father send you to settle accounts?”

“Settle accounts? Wh—“

“It was him, Veronica Mars,” Cheryl cut in. “ _ He’s  _ the one that tried to have the Ghoulies kidnap you.”

“He what?” Veronica clenched her fists behind her head. “I—you _bastard!_ _I knew something was wrong here!”_

“Quiet! Quiet! All of you!” Cliff barked. He turned the gun on Veronica again. “ _ Why  _ are you  _ here _ ?”

“I came because I was worried about Cheryl! And now I see  _ why  _ you… damn psycho! What the hell  _ is  _ this? Why are you trying to hurt me? My dad? What is—“

“Take your phone out of your pocket.”

“What? Why?”

“Call your father,” Cliff demanded.

“What? No!”

“ _ Do  _ it,” he said, cocking the revolver.

Veronica scoffed. “I  _ know  _ how a revolver works, Scarface. That’s a double-action you… jackass.”

Cliff pressed the barrel to her forehead.

Veronica pulled out her phone and dialed her father. It rang once. Twice.

“Veronica? Where have you been all morning? Your mother and I—”

“Daddy, don’t freak out, okay?”

“Don’t freak out? Well, it’s a little late for that,  _ mija _ , because I—”

“I am at Thornhill.”

Hiram took a deep breath on the other line.

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing there?”

“Mr. Blossom… has got…” Veronica sucked in a deep breath. “A gun… to my head.”

“ _ Mija,  _ that isn’t funny, and I—”

Cliff snatched the phone away.

“She isn’t joking, Hiram, and I suggest you—”

“Clifford? You stupid bastard.” Hiram’s rage poured through the phone. “You’ve damned yourself.” Then he hung up.

“And he hangs up,” Clifford sighs. He pointed the gun at Cheryl again. “Well, Cheryl, what do you think? Are you still glad you and your brother tried to sell me out to Mr. Lodge? Do you—”

“God,  _ enough _ !” The redhead snapped. “I’m so sick of this… this pseudo-mafia gang war  _ nonsense _ ! But why should I be surprised?  You’ve spent all seventeen years of my life treating me like  _ utter garbage _ , and… and making it out as if it was somehow _my_ fault, so why in  _ God’s  _ name should it surprise me what a soulless, sociopathic _monster_ you've turned out to be? Do you want to kill us? Fine! Kill us! But do it knowing that you’re an evil, vindictive, abusive, paranoid prick who doesn’t deserve to call himself a father!”

Cliff pressed the pistol into Cheryl’s chest. She gasped.

“Don’t lecture me on morality you little bitch. You and your brother—”

“I  _ love  _ Jason!” Cheryl exclaimed, tears in her eyes. “And he loves  _ me _ , and—”

Cliff stepped closer, eyes burning. He clocked her in the side of the head with the pistol’s grip.

Cheryl heard a dull thud, and then felt waves of searing pain explode through her skull. She stumbled and sank to her knees.

Her father raised the gun up for another blow.

Then Jason sprang in from the side and struck him in the side of the head. Cliff reeled and fell back and the gun slipped from his fingers.

Shaking away the pain in her head, Cheryl darted forward and snatched up the revolver. She sprang to her feet again and trained the weapon on her father.

The situation flipped in a moment. Cheryl stepped forward, holding the gun close on Cliff, who very slowly got to his feet again. Jughead, Veronica, and Jason lined up behind her, and Cheryl realized that she was in charge of the moment.

“Cheryl—” Clifford tried.

“Shut up!” Cheryl snapped. “Shut your slimy, lying, depilated mouth!  _ I’ve  _ got the gun now, so you  _ shut the hell up _ !” She stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the gun to Cliff’s forehead. “Should I kill you  _ now _ , you black hearted, murdering scoundrel, or should we turn you over to the police and watch you rot in a cell for the rest of—“

Cliff dove forward and caught Cheryl in the waist. She doubled over and fell back. The gun slipped from her hand and spiraled to the floor.

All present went for it.

Jughead's fingers brushed the handle. He just barely missed. Cliff scrambled for it. Veronica kicked it away. Jason clocked his father in the head again, and with the other hand, went for the gun. He snatched it up. Cliff lunged at his son. For a second, sheer panic and confusion held sway.

Then the gun went off. There was a transient silence, and then Cliff shouted in pain. A splotch of red blood spread across his left shoulder. He sank to his knees again, clutching his wound. The four teenagers watched in awe.

“You—” Cliff began.

“ _ Shut your mouth, or I’ll shoot you again,”  _ Jason growled through the dry blood caking his own face. 

Then the barn doors flew open, and a team of armed men rushed inside. Within a moment, an array of pistols was leveled at all five present. Their heads whirled around.

“Freeze! Everybody freeze! You’re all under arrest!” Sheriff Keller cried. His deputies fanned out behind him, ready to catch everyone in a crossfire if need be. “Jason, drop that weapon!” Keller shouted.

Jason obediently let the revolver fall from his hand.

Cliff rolled and groaned in pain.

“Everyone on the ground. Hands behind your heads,” Keller said firmly.

All complied, except for Cliff, who was quite unable to move his right arm.

The deputies moved forward and clapped handcuffs on all five people.

“Careful, I’ve got a dangerous set of hastily-scribbled calculus notes in my back pocket,” Jughead drawled as his hands were pulled behind his back.

“Son, don’t joke with me."

* * *

The rest happened quickly.

The four teenagers (along with Kevin Keller and Reggie Mantle, who had called the Sheriff after the first gunshot) were rushed along and locked up in the town’s police station, pending the disentanglement of the entire mess. Clifford Blossom, bleeding rather badly from the gunshot wound in his shoulder, was admitted to Riverdale General Hospital in a mood.

Keller and his boys tore Thornhill apart, and came away with a few hundred kilograms worth of heroin and that new-fangled ‘Jingle Jangle’. Along with the reams of Clifford’s documents and personal correspondence, they revealed little pieces of the greater picture. Blossom Maple Farms was the first link in a nation-wide narcotics distribution network whose tentacles stretched down the eastern seaboard to the ports of south Florida and extended up over the border into Canada. The respectable façade and plausible deniability that had long kept the Blossom ‘maple syrup’ empire insulated from suspicion crumbled in an instant.

Clifford Blossom, still convalescing in his hospital bed, received another prompt police visit and found himself under arrest for drug trafficking and battery, among a litany of other charges.

Cheryl Blossom, bubbly and cool-headed as ever, informed the Sheriff (and the DEA agents who soon descend upon Riverdale) that their father had attempted to kill her and Jason after they resolved to expose his criminal enterprise to the world. She tactfully neglected to mention Hiram Lodge’s blackmail or its subject.

With the lion’s share of Cliff’s money seized by an alphabet soup of federal agencies, the fallen kingpin found the top-of-the-line attorneys he’d always hoped would be on hand in a situation like this to be beyond his price range. Prospects appeared rather grim.

“God, I hope they throw the book at him,” Cheryl snarled. She flicked through the brief  _ Riverdale Register  _ article on her phone (Jughead had recently—and reluctantly—helped the town paper make the leap to the digital age with its very own website). The scandal was big enough to find its way into the New York Times and a number of other national newspapers, but there was something to be said for Alice Cooper’s homespun vitriol.

Jason squeezed into the little couch next to her. The student lounge was empty, and he felt comfortable leaning down and planting a soft kiss on her lips.

“Hope they throw a  _ brick  _ at him,” he said.

“How’s your face?” Cheryl asked. She reached up to touch her brother’s cheek. The cuts left by Cliff’s beating crisscrossed his brow, cheeks, and the bridge of his nose. The bruising had mostly subsided at least.

“Some of them are probably going to scar,” Jason said, shrugging.

“Poor baby,” Cheryl cooed, running her thumb over a laceration near his eye. “It’s okay,” she winked. “Scars are sexy.”

“What are you reading?” Jason asked, gesturing to her phone.

“About Dad’s case. He’s facing quite the array of charges. With any luck we’ll be forty and married by the time he gets out. If he gets out…” 

“ _ Married _ ?” Jason giggled. “Tell me his name and I’ll cut his heart out.”

Cheryl thought for a moment then laughed. “Scratch that bit.” She put her phone away. “You know, I was conducting some late night research yesterday and…”

“And…”

“I’m thinking you and I, dear brother, ought to look into an attorney.”

“Oh? For what?”

“I foresee a coming battle with our reptilian mother over what’s left of our family’s money, once the federal government’s through.”

“So…” Jason began. “You and me and what’s left of dad’s money. Sounds like a blast.”

“God, my father going to federal prison as his drug empire crumbles is the best thing that’s happened to me in  _ years _ ,” Cheryl sighed, leaning back against Jason’s shoulder.

He laughed again and rubbed her back. “What do you say we cut third and fourth period?”

“An inspired idea, as usual,” Cheryl responded.

“Go to Pop’s, pick the car up in three hours?” Jason asked.

“Sounds great.”

Some three blocks from Riverdale High a sleek black car intercepted them. The passenger window rolled descended to reveal the face of Hiram Lodge, flashing his brilliant smile. His driver stared straight ahead.

“Cheryl, Jason,” Hiram greeted, waving. “You kids should be in school.”

The twins stepped back. Jason put a protective arm between the car and his sister.

“What do you want, asshole?” Cheryl snapped.

“Well, I’d like for you two to get in the car, first,” he said, still smiling.

Jason practically growled.

“Don’t be silly,” Hiram said, smile failing. “You don’t think I’d hurt the two of you, now? With the town  _ crawling  _ with federal agents? And you both know we have a bit to discuss.”

The driver stepped out. He opened up a back door. The twins, all-too cognizant of the whip Hiram held over them, bit the bullet and slipped inside. The door slammed shut, the driver returned to his place, and the car crept away down the road.

“What do you  _ want _ ?” Cheryl repeated. Jason reached out and squeezed her hand. She felt her heart rate subside, just a little.

“I just want to make sure we understand each other,” Hiram said softly. He didn’t deign to turn around. He sat back in his seat and stared straight ahead as he spoke. “Your father’s… downfall has made a real mess of things. The authorities are busy ferreting out everyone he’s ever done business with or spoken to in the context of that business. That includes me, of course. I’m doing my very best to keep myself and my family out of the line of fire.”

“And that concerns us  _ how _ ?” Cheryl demanded. “Your war with our father is over—and we won it for you, so you’re welcome—so why can’t you just  _ leave us be _ ?”

Hiram sighed. “All I want from you is an assurance that you won’t implicate me or my family in connection with your father’s… well, anything. If you can promise me that, then I don’t see any reason why anyone else has to know about your uh… well, we know, don’t we?”

Cheryl’s mouth dried up. She scowled. Jason’s jaw twitched.

“Are you threatening us?” she asked.

“Yes,” Hiram said flatly. “But only because you two know enough to threaten  _ me _ .”

“So if we forget about you—if we don’t tell the police  _ anything _ , and just go about our lives, you won’t tell anyone about us?” Jason demanded.

“I’ll take it to my grave,” Hiram promised. “And I’ll see to it those two Serpent boys who brought you to my attention to begin with are compensated well for their silence, too. The way I see it, we hold the keys to each other’s unmaking. No need to turn those keys, right?”

Now, he turned around. He smiled.

Cheryl relaxed, just a little. “Right,” she said. “Jason?”

“Right,” her brother echoed. “On our lives.”

The car rolled to a stop. The driver stepped out and opened up their door again. The twins exited. They stood at the curb, a good ten blocks closer to Pop’s than when Hiram had picked them up.

“Glad we could come to an understanding,” Hiram said. “You kids have a nice day.”

And then he was off again. 

* * *

 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Betty said.

Veronica nodded. It was a suitably lovely day. A few sparse clouds swirled through the brilliantly blue sky. The trees along the roadside shuddered in an autumn breeze. Rays of October sunlight sliced down and through the windows of Pop’s diner. Lint and specks of dust danced in the glowing stream.

“Everyone’s okay. Everything’s… fine,” Veronica said reluctantly. “For the most part.”

Betty raised an eyebrow and swirled her straw in her milkshake.

“For the  _ most part _ ?”

Veronica shook her head. “My dad is—nevermind. I refuse to worry about  _ anything  _ for the next month, at least. I need a good few weeks of bliss and I intend to have them. Who knows? Maybe I won’t even do any schoolwork.”

Betty laughed.

“I don’t know about that. I can’t have my girlfriend failing all of her classes.”

Veronica sucked in a big gulp of her milkshake. She coughed and collected herself.

“Sorry?”

“What?”

“You called me your girlfriend?”

Betty reeled a little. Her fair face turned a bit red. She brushed hair from her eyes.

“O—oh. Well… uh… we… you… we are, right? Now?”

Veronica smiled. She lowered her head and giggled a little bit. Then she reached over and covered Betty’s hand with hers. She took another sip of her shake.

“Yeah. I guess we are. It’s just… hearing it said threw me off balance for the briefest of moments. That’s all.” Veronica planted her hands on the table, then leaned over and kissed Betty softly on the lips.

“If you lovebirds don’t mind the interruption…” Pop Tate appeared at the table carrying two orders of fries. The two girls leapt apart. Pop Tate chuckled. He set the orders down and disappeared again.

“My peripheral vision fails me yet again,” Veronica said.

Betty shook her head. “Don’t worry. I think Pop Tate is used to displays of teenage affection in here.”

“I hope so,” Veronica whistled through her teeth.

Betty picked at her fries.

“Hey… anyway… I was meaning to ask you…”

“Yes?” Veronica prodded.

Betty was silent.

“Come on. Out with it,” Veronica said.

“I was meaning to ask you… if you wanted to come to dinner at my house this Friday?”

Veronica was still for a moment. Then her eyes widened. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean… your mother…”

“Will be there, yes. And she’s going to be… my mother, but I’ve got to come face to face with her eventually, don’t I? And I think it’ll be easier if you’re there.”

Veronica’s smile returned. “Sounds great.”

The door to Pop’s opened up. The bell rang. The Blossom twins stepped inside. Cheryl’s gaze fell upon the two girls, and she crossed her arms in measured disapproval.

“Shouldn’t you two be in  _ school _ ?” she asked.

Veronica opened her mouth to fire back, but Betty beat her to it.

“Cheryl… shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to post the last chapter. There's a short epilogue coming, too.


	11. Epilogue

**Seven months later**

Cheryl Blossom dug her toes into the white, powdery sand. The gentle, soothing boom of the stilled her limbs and soothed her heartbeat. She stretched her arms out and sighed in satisfaction. The bright summer sun caressed the fair, tender skin of her limbs and stomach.  
 ****

The beach was not empty, but it wasn’t packed, either. All along the strand, couples and families occupied little outposts marked by sandcastles or rainbow umbrellas. The Atlantic Ocean sparkled in the noonday light. On the horizon, the triangular sail of a catamaran cut against a grey-blue sky.

Cheryl lay back on the sand, foregoing a towel. She shut her eyes in rapture, absorbing the sun as the sea breeze played gently with her ginger hair. Jason sat next to her, thumbing through a cheap paperback. Periodically, he peeked at her over the top of the book.

She dramatically lowered her sunglasses and squinted at her brother.

“Stop sneaking looks, perv. We’re on a public beach.”

Jason rolled his eyes and pursed his lips.

“I’m looking out for you. That bikini is practically non-existent, you look a sheet of paper, and you didn’t put on enough sunscreen. You want sunburn?”

Cheryl provocatively stretched out a long, creamy white leg.

“A _sexy_ sheet of paper,” she insisted.

“Be that as it may,” Jason trailed off and returned to his book. He read for a few more minutes, and she took in a bit more sun. Then he stood up. He loomed over his sister and playfully kicked a pile of sand onto her leg. She bolted upright like a snake had bitten her and socked him in the thigh.

“Bastard!”

“I’m going to go for a swim. Feel free to come along,” he said.

She laid back, pursed her lips, and placed her hands behind her head.

“Keep your shirt on,” she instructed. “I don’t want you attracting the wrong type of attention.”

Jason promptly stripped off his shirt and flung it onto Cheryl’s face. She tore it away and threw it back at him. He dramatically touched a hand to his bare chest and said: “I’m going to go attract the wrong type of attention.” Then he turned around and walked towards the water.

“Have fun in the water, jackass! You know, they filmed _Jaws_ here!” Cheryl shouted after him. He flipped her off over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes and sat back again.

It was impossible for her to be _truly_ upset about anything. Cape Cod was lovely this time of year. They didn’t _own_ the beachfront house on the bluff overlooking the sea, but it was as good as theirs for the next week and a half.

After the feds were done, there were still a solid two million dollars left to the Blossom family name. The twins 18 th birthdays fortuitously came in the midst of the trial and the ensuing maelstrom of lawyers and judges, and after a truly apocalyptic legal struggle with their inveterate mother, they’d made off with nearly half of it.

The shrieking laughter of children and chattering teenagers drifted over the beach. The happy ending Jason had forecasted all of those months ago suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish to Cheryl. Indeed, it seemed within reach.

Then Cheryl lifted her head, on a whim, to find a most horrifying sight. Jason stood in the surf, in ankle-deep water. Her first thought was that he looked _fantastic_ , with his red hair dripping and his arms and chest glistening with droplets of seawater. He held a beach ball in his hand, and seemed involved in a riveting conversation with two girls and a guy about their age.

Cheryl stood and stormed over, smashing into the conversation and rebuilding it around herself.

“Hi!” She exulted, taking Jason’s arm.

“Jason!” one of the girls exclaimed. “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend.”

“I was just…returning their ball, Cher,” Jason said.

Cheryl plucked the beach ball from her brother’s hand and handed it over to the nearest girl, who reluctantly took it.

“Well, here’s your ball!” Cheryl said with a big, sickly sweet smile.

“Th—thanks,” the girl said.

Jason shot his sister a look.

“S—so your name’s Cher, like the singer?” The guy asked. Cheryl gritted her teeth.

“My name’s _Cheryl_.”

“Oh, well, nice to meet you, Cheryl,” one of the girls said. “Your boyfriend’s great, he—“

“Yes, he’s so great that he _always_ keeps time, and as it just so happens, we’ve got to be going _just_ now.” She led him away.

“I—it was nice to meet you,” Jason called back. The trio waved at him.

“Bye, Jason!” one of the girls called.

“So I’m not allowed to interact with other human beings, now?” Jason asked.

“Not when you’re shirtless in swim trunks on a beach surrounded by a couple of giggling airheads.”

“I was _returning their ball_ ,” he said.

“That’s how it starts.”

Jason sighed. “I’m going to let this slide because I’m kind of hungry and wanted to leave soon, anyway.”

“There, you see, everything works out,” Cheryl beamed. Then she spun around, stood up on the balls of her feet, and kissed him sharp and hard on the lips. He put his hands on her hips and held her close. Their bodies pressing together. Cheryl sighed gladly into the kiss. The beach disappeared. The wind tore around them. She felt their heartbeats mingle and run together. The kiss broke at last, and she dropped down from her toes. Jason looked down at her with pure love and adoration. She smiled back, in perfect rapture.

They walked back to the beach house hand in hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now it's over  
> thanks for reading! If you liked it by all means let me know!


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